Get Your Premium Membership

Best Economy Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best Economy poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of economy poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for Economy poems, articles about Economy poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Economy poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:

Poems are below...

View all new Economy Poems

The Best Economy Poems

Details | Economy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Lotsa Limericks - It Couldn't be Verse

		1. Big Brother
Big Brother's protecting his mice
with a secret eavesdropping device.
          If you hang up the phone
          he'll just send in a drone
when a warrant won't really suffice.

		2. Neutrality
The internet's meant to be free,
yes for all, such as you, such as me.
          But now there's some doubt -
          will it lose all its clout
with the death of neutrality's spree?

		3. Privacy
'twas surely our forefather's dread
all our emails would someday be read.
	Now that push comes to shove
	by the powers above,
private thoughts must now stay in our head.

		4. Guantanamo 
Guantanamo bay's a resort
where the fishing's a fabulous sport -
	with your back on a board
	tepid water is poured
spawning tales for a kangaroo court.

		5. Banks
To bountiful bailouts give thanks
for there's nothing much richer than banks -
	making money galore
	taking homes from the poor
while they're managing mortgaging pranks.

		6. Health
If you live in the States don't get sick
(lest a cut of the upper class clique).
	Whether injured or ill
	all they'll give you's a pill -
if you're lucky you'll surely die quick.

		7. Economy
Our economy's doing just fine
lying dead with a slug in the spine.
	So come follow the call
	where there's money for all
and pure profit's the bottom-most line.

		8. Safety
Vigilantes and cops are wide spread -  
as for justice… not even a shred.
	The avengers of right
	score when stalking the night 
so beware of a cap in the head.

Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2014

Details | Economy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Pay No Attention to the Man Behind the Curtain

Blissfully ignorant and supine,
Lost in the economy line,
voters don’t have a clue
that liberty is through.
Apathy dictates all else is fine.
People keep telling me how foolish I am,
but frankly I don’t give a dam.
I’m going to tell you what I see.
You don’t have to agree with me.
In hatred’s name Moslems prayed at the mosque,
boarded planes and three thousand we lost,
Soon we elected a Moslem president,
his books words and actions self evident.
To prove he was islam’s extremist hero,
He allowed a triumphant mosque at ground zero,
Freedom of religion is what they subtly called it,
by a government that continues to overhaul it.
The American people look on as if still numb,
singing his praises as if deaf and dumb,
while a pseudo democratic uncle Sam,
in a forced health care plan,
continues to turn out liberty’s lights
by destroying other religion’s rights.
Thus the American people’s democracy,
is morphed into a dictatorial hypocrisy.
While blindsided by a frantic economy,
we apathetically lose our autonomy.
Allowed by deaf and blind voters in a loud voice,
Fooled by not freedom but license they call choice,
sly appointment of people who fulfill the plan,
A long range one by the “new” Uncle Sam.
a champion of abortion, killing future contenders
him and Herod; another of the great pretenders.
“Enlightened Americans have one point two children per family,
because of abortion, birth control and contraception
Moslems have seven; which is the anomaly?
We Americans treat babies as an infection.
Laugh if you wish; I’m just exposing the path,
You “enlightened” Americans: you do the math.

Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2012

Details | Economy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

My family is everywhere

My family is everywhere like wild seeds sown
On the whim and bluster of a wind
Some left for Cuba before the revolution
Bring green stalks of sweet grass to sugar
And are still there, root sunken in the earth
Grafted branches without memory now
Or recognition of ancestral home,
Separated by language and new history
Thick as the depth of our watery boundaries.

Some in Panama built the canal, but no bridge
For home when their meagre cents were spent
Too soon. I met a few with little knowledge
But no anxiety for early morning mist of blue
Over the mountain, looking still to see them
Coming home like birds when summer is done.
Some went to Venezuela to see the oil
They said was black as Africa in the new world
Brazil: there football is more than economy
Gladiators: bloodless troubadors of the new army 
And many drifted into the squalor of Costa Rica,
Nicaragua, Ecuador, searching for light
Amidst old civilizations brought to ruins
By Conquistadores majesty and Roman might.

The only one who report are those from Canada
Is it because of the language, because they proper
As they do in America. Is there nothing in them
That longs for home, to leave the Mexico to her Aztecs
Her cactus lace with golden strands of sun.
When I was in Germany, Austria, France, far away
As Holland, Rhine and Danube linking invisble
Heritage, I met them, distancing the old decay
"We are thinking to move to Taiwan or Japan"
They told me, poverty does make a barren land
So I understand the boat people, not lying
Like Columbus, they seek the same treasure
And yet for their truth reap some displeasure.
I could package it for them to sell, but cannot agree
When the wind rattle the wattle of desolation.

My family is everywhere scattered like wild seeds
In fresh forests fretting with the burden of the wind.

Copyright © L'nass Shango | Year Posted 2009

Details | Economy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Giant of Lisbellaw

Stood I there, that last day,
On an iron bridge...
An aqueduct by design,
Where, looking dreamily out over
The Ernes Lower Lough,
My compressed shadow 
Momentarily paused -
To contently recline:
Amidst coy Junes radiant beams 
of sweet benign!
All was stilled, all was hushed,
Save vast reed beds sided by the
Shallow hills of Lisbellaw;
And I am lost to enchantment
Of such beguiling thoughts -
Then noon stumped up...
Squatting idly down on 
The far eastern shore.

Stirred bloods mixed and
Risen inside the linings 
Of warmed and prominent veins, 
Starkly contrasting against a 
Bleached and weathered rail of
Coarse and twisted grains; 
Whereon, my hands staid by 
I dissected my solitary years
Of three singular and two score 
When, suddenly, down the narrow
The loudening sounds of 
Motoring -
Progressing steadily along 
Emanating from a diesels engines 
High-torque drawl.

From this carriage alighted an
Elderly man -
But what a giant of a man who
Now stood before!
With shoulders like a Donegal 
Bull -
He must have still stood well 
Over Six foot- four.
And with a courteous nod of the
To an impassioned peroxide 
Whos ample Bosom could bring 
To any mans bed -
Would such that desire should 
Stepping assuredly away,
Gently closed the big cars door.

Here was a gentleman schooled 
In concision;
He a masterly exponent in the art 
Of communication
Made more effective by
Elimination of redundancy;
Economy of language, economy of
Deliberate, terse, and very much
In this, his brevity of 
Installed incumbency.

The thin lines of orange and 
Tracing like fizzing peat turf 
That squared within his pale 
Blue shirt,
Criss-crossing at right angles 
His torsos colossal frame;
Where one could plainly see, 
With merely just a single glance,
Demonstration of a mighty fulcrum
Centred by the heavy silvered
Buckle -
Whose leather belt drew in at the 
Neatly pressed pleats
Of the softly blackened corduroy 

Compromised somewhat,
And anticipating a reaction
That might be considered rather 
awkward and a little adverse...
Suggested by the immense manner 
Of ambling approach,
I stumbled over meaningless 
As I struggled for something,
However nonsensical, 
To almost apologetically broach:-
"There is rather few Bream",
Said I -
"But the river is brimming over
With plentiful good sized Roach"! 

A quizzical look flickered and then
Mapped itself 
Over that impassive face,
A look that younger or more 
Foolish folks 
Might have mistakenly 
Misinterpreted as an arrogant
Stared he down into the glare
Of the rippled depths...
As if examining the thinness of
My mortal soul;
Stared he distractedly across 
The bays great expanse
As if imploring unto mysterious 
Swimming with beguiling Nivian
In swirling dalliance,
That may offer up, like Excalibur -
Some fantastic vision to behold!
Intently pondering;
Perhaps, I reasoned, In search of
His forefathers soothing muses of 
Drawn from legend of folklore:
Doubtless could fortify depleted wit...
And thereby his heart console;
Wherefore, in slow response...
The worthiness of this bridge he
Didst prepare, 
Therefore - to so virtuously extol!

A dialect, commanded by 
Measured brogue,
That over me enveloped
Like fog upon Cuilcaghs mystical
Hills of continually eroding
Developed through ancestral 
Indelibly immersed in Fermanaghs 
Guttural and broad undertones;
Enriched by successive generations 
Rejoicing in their Heavenly bower:
Now just buried bones
Rehearsed and blessed in public 
Delivered under Alberts great 
Tower -
Upon whose mouldering caskets 
The bells striking chimes 
So forcefully atones;
And a voice brought hence to this 
A voice born to converse in 
Singularly articulated lines...
Fortified by propriety of grace...

Whence he spoke:-


Without more ado, and uncaring of
An answer,
He turned and strode away;
Leaving me feeling,
During that brief intrusion of
Heavenly interplay,
As if this had been one of Gods 
Emissaries descended,
During zenith of Prime Meridian,
Upon this devoid and hushed
Quickly re-ensconced,
As if demanded by higher 
To react swiftly through 
Necessity of immediate response,
Bridling horsepower once again 
Mighty pistons, growling to life,
Contained -
Within the exploding bore and all 
Its fiery strife!
Wherein the cast block:
Pivotal rods pushing down hard upon 
A ground cranks bolted constrains -
When powering my receding vision 
Away into the diminishing dusts of 
Hosannas racing refraines.

Left alone,
With head bowed in silent 
For the ruminations of an older
And wiser mans preference,
I knew that I would forever 
This revered and most hallowed
For now committed to mind -
Be that Bridges steadfast and 
Enduring designs...

And those eternal words...



Copyright © john fleming | Year Posted 2016

Details | Economy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Paul, Peter and the Tweeter

Paul, Peter and the Tweeter
Why not choose, 
a billionaire leader?
One who is not 
an eloquent speaker.
Trouble rises,
he robs Paul to pay Peter.
The bold rich need tax savings,
forget about the meeker.

From a distance,
we watch the kingdom teeter.
Him smirking on high,
he thinks "What could be sweeter!"
Why oh why, 
did so many choose that cheater?

Global temperature rising,
things aren't the same.
Scientific facts need hiding,
isn't that a shame?
There's new logic he's applying,
says coal dust isn't really flying.
Even though the fish are bitter
and you can't see them under the litter,
no one can turn down the heater.
"Fake News" he says,
check out T-Man's Twitter.
The Country is "Great Again",
cause he ain't no quitter!
Yet people are making less than their babysitter.
Good jobs will go with free trade,
might as well become a waiter.
Otherwise you’ll starve sooner or later.

People happy,
he wants to build a wall.
Mexico will pay,
so build it tall.
More immigrants?
You don't need them at all.
But no one left to pick the fruit,
or to be at your beck and call.
Watch it all fall,
for sure the economy will stall.
No one buying nothing at the mall.
Klu Klux Klan standing tall.
If they ask him,
T-Man will let them guard his wall.

Look for all the signs,
a leader who's a hater.
Mastertweeting, flatulater.
A logic lacking debater,
self-promoting, congratulator!
If he pushes the button,
we might become a large crater.
He'll spin it and tell those left,
"I'm the great emancipator!"
If you don't believe him,
You’re just another disloyal traitor!

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2018

Details | Economy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

India Shining

India, my motherland best as any mother
To me, at par with best world over

India's invention of Zero and Decimal 
Critical to scientific calculation, invention

Rich ancient culture of Harappan civilisation
Alexander, Babur, too could not resist invasion 

Founder of Diverse religions,
Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, Sikhism 

Himalayas, abode of Saints, spiritual Mantra
Holy rivers Ganga, Yamuna, Bhramaputra 

Multi-culture, cuisine, languages - local, foreign
Muslim, Christian, Zoroaster, secular terrain  

For centuries borne Moghuls, British slavery 
Now successful largest Democracy 

Greats - Gandhi, Vivekananda, Mahavir, Buddha
Sacred texts - Vedas, Puranas, Epics - Ramayana, Mahabharta, Gita 

Taj Mahal, Khajurao, Ajanta, Ellora – mausoleum, temples, caves   
India’s Wonders of World, UNESCO World Heritage Sites 

Deployed for Peace, Nuclear Power  
World’s second largest Army but invaded never 

Founder Member of UN, Non-aligned Movement
India’s standpoint significant in any world’s event

India, leading force in South Asia Region
Global force to reckon with in any international forum    

Every third Indian in world's intellectual work force
Medicine or Software, India has best human resource  

World’s second fastest developing economy 
India, future Super Power, can't stop any 

Country - India   
By Hitendra Mehta
~ Harappan civilisation - ancient urban rich Indus Valley civilisation

~Alexander / Babur  – Greece/Moghul Emperor

~Ganga, Yamuna, Bhramaputra – Holy rivers 

~Gandhi – Father of Nation, led Non-Violent freedom struggle against British Empire
~Vivekananda – introduced Hindu philosophies of Vedanta & Yoga in Europe &

~Mahavir / Buddha – founder of Jain / Buddha religion.   

~Vedas, Puranas – Primary Hindu Sacred Texts 

~Ramayana, Mahabharta, Gita – National Hindu Epics. Gita,part of Mahabharta 

~Taj Mahal – Mausoleum built by Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan. A UNESCO World
   Heritage Site. Featured in Seven Wonders of the World. 

~Khajurao – Hindu, Jain temple famous for erotic sculpture. UNESCO World Heritage

~Ajanta –Rock cut monument famous for masterpieces of paintings/sculptures of
  Buddhist religious Art. UNESCO World Heritage Site.

~Ellora – Rock cut monument famous for Buddhist, Hindu and Jain caves. UNESCO
   World Heritage Site.

Copyright © Hitendra Mehta | Year Posted 2011

Details | Economy Poem | Create an image from this poem.


Africa's children blighted in the rich land of birth
Persecuted by the oppressing hand of foreign greed
Agitate for love to find in ancient pigment its worth
Rights of human beings trampled like common weed
Time changes nothing, it's the blind heart that deceives us
Humanity in Marikana overthrown fore Malema took his stand
Erases what is progress while business stays the same
Insensitive in its selective structure, insolent in its plan
Democracy condoning plunder has a resume of shame.
Souls of men worn with toil and danger
Trespass with their plea for aid and freedom
Rulers riled cast disdain at telling hunger
Imposing tragedy that shows the faked ransom
Kins and comrades in the long struggle paid
Economy is a forked tongue serpent on parade

In protest of the 44 miners who died Marikana
South Africa, I cannot support a pax humana
Till the guilty are brought to justice, children fed
And true equality becomes the legacy of the dead.

Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2012

Details | Economy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

No free lunch

A scientist pursuing research—
with disinterested curiosity,
Poets distancing themselves—
from personal emotions,
from ‘personality’ (in Eliot’s idiolect),
A sportsperson focusing on the event—
not obsessed with results,
demonstrating sporting spirit,
Anyone doing their karma—
regardless of results,
as characterized in Indian scriptures,
notably the Gita—
All these are instances of detachment—
Of varying degrees
And of course in various domains.
Thus, they all fit into a paradigm.

The old order changeth, yielding place to new!
There was a paradigm shift in the globe—
A mutation.
Detachment suddenly changed
To (greedy) Attachment—to profit.
And the Rat Race started.

It originated in Keiser’s pre-War Germany.
Chemical industry sponsored Academic programmes.
But chemical weapons were piling up.
Oh, what a pity!
And war seemed to be the only solution—
To dispose of the weapons.
No free lunch!

A weak Kaiser yielded.
Germany plunged into war—
A development not dissimilar
To the piling up of warheads in the US,
Leading to the Gulf War.
Germany lost.
Kaiser abdicated and fled.
Now, a broken Germany
Had to launch another war,
To salvage its economy—
With far more disastrous consequences this time.
The Fatherland broke down.
Führer killed himself.
Germany was broken in two.

But the new paradigm continued to work—
Spread globally.
The world came to be governed
By corporate concerns,
No free lunch!

The rat race continued
And still continues,
At breakneck speed,
Between the two Geopolitical Blocs,
Between members of the same Bloc!
What about ideology, then?
No problem.
No free lunch!

The paradigm shift means
Commodification, Cutthroat competition,
Aggressive marketing, Subliminal appeal,
Throwaway mode,
Exploitation of labour.
What about ideology, then?
No problem.
No free lunch!

Benjamin Bloom came.
Outcome-Based Education
Displaced Liberal education
Academies gave up Engineering,
Offered Technology.
Research was all geared to
A noble, commercial purpose.
The world became a Workers’ Paradise,
(in Tagore’s idiom).
Exploitation of labour?
Will go on.
No free lunch!

Fundamental Research?
Who cares?
But what about values?
‘Politically correct’ language, please.
No free lunch!

Of late busy with contests—of course.
And write only for prize money!
The muses or Sarasvati?
No superstitions, please.
No free lunch!

All on the market,
Waiting to be bought off 
Or already auctioned.
Can’t help it.
No free lunch!

And sporting spirit?
What do you mean?
Current English, please!
No free lunch!

And what about detachment?
Why, are you a Buddha?
A Charlie Chaplin?
A Tithonus?
A Rip Van Winkle or an ET?
Google Postmodernism and Kali Yuga
And find out.
Read rags and update.
Or you’ll be detached.
No free lunch!

Om, shantih, shantih, shantih!

Copyright © Ram R. V. | Year Posted 2017

Details | Economy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Incredible India

We are the Indians noted for our humanness and calm nature
With no harshness in our Principles and ideals.
We are open minded, emotional and good natured
Our emotions speaks louder than words
We are Rich in culture, traditions, festivals, gold, diamonds and food 
Our culture are deeply rooted within our hearts, mind, body and soul
We are the country of generosity, civilization and the quality of excellence in thoughts and manners

We have the 3rd highest armed forces in the world
We are multi-racial, multi-cultural and multi-religious country
Our Land is a land of spirituality, unity, peace, ancient, love, forgiveness and true friends
Our Himalaya Mountain includes the highest peak in the world
We are the fourth largest fastest growing economy in the world
We are the biggest and most successful democracy in the world
We are one with unity and integrity and respectful to everyone
 Simple, down to earth by nature, helpful, warm hearted
We have 28 states and 7 union territories
Each states has their own clothing styles and own languages
We co-exist peacefully and have a single nationalistic identity

Our country has created Pentium chip and Hotmail 
Our country is the co-founder of Sun Microsystems
We are the world's largest producer of milk, spices in the world
We have the number one best film industry in the world
We Indians are the wealthiest among all ethnic groups in America
Among 3.22 millions of Indians in USA which is1.5% of population
YET,38% of doctors in USA are Indians. 
12% scientists in USA are Indians. 
36% of NASA scientists are Indians. 
34% of Microsoft employees are Indians.
28% of IBM employees are Indians. 
17% of INTEL scientists are Indians. 
13% of XEROX employees are Indians. 
We have the highest number of Doctors, Engineers and Scientists
Zero, Algebra, Trigonometry, Quadratic equations, Calculus, Place Value System and the Decimal System, chess, snake and ladders game, yoga etc originated from us.
We have the unquestionable gifts as grammar and logic, philosophy, fables 
We are one of the largest English speaking and talented Country of the world.

We are family oriented people with extended families 
With lowest divorce rate in the world.
We have the most beautiful graceful women 
Winning the titles of Miss Universe and Miss World.
Our flag depicts great tricolor saying that we all are brothers.
Saffron color stands for renunciation, disinterestedness, courage and sacrifice
White color symbolizes truth, peace and purity
Green color represents prosperity, vibrance and life.
The wheel represents the righteousness, progress and perpetuity.
 The 24 spokes of the wheel represents the 24 hours of a day 
Nothing can be compared to the beauty of our Land
Mark Twain said 'India is the cradle of the human race, 
The birthplace of human speech, 
 The mother of history, the grandmother of legend, 
And the great grand mother of tradition".

lndia is our home where our heart can rest and sleep
No words can explain the beauty of our land.
Every Indian makes INDIA very proud
Be Proud to be Indian! ! !

Copyright © Shaila Touchton | Year Posted 2016

Details | Economy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Old Worn Out Poet

By the light of a window sits an old man, his pennies he does count.
His hair is gray, his eyes are old, and there’s little in his bank account.
He has lived his life by the book of what is good, kind and just.
He had some fun when he was young, was a man you could trust.
He’s done all the things you have, he worked his whole life thru.
And now he sits, by the window of life, wondering what he will do.
As his health went away, his life went away, he never doubted it would.
He saved and was frugal his whole life long, he did the best he could. 
But the way of money is often misunderstood, and it often slips away.
Now he wonders how he will keep all those predators at bay.
The economy went bad; his job went away, his medical insurance, too.
He’d already been sick, medicines were high, and he lost his house to boot.
The new medical insurance is high, so much he can’t afford any treats.
Air conditioning’s a dream, heat may be soon, but he’s not on the streets.
Now in an apartment he will rest his head, and sparingly he does eat.
Gloom and doom are not his way, so a new life he will greet.
He can’t write, he shakes too much, but with a computer he gets it done.
He has trouble traveling. Finding work is hard. None his way will come.
His mind’s not sharp, but he’s seen so much, he’ll find a way to get along.
And he still has a passion for words, the world, and of course for song.
So with that in mind, as a poet he was born. And as a poet, he has grown.
He’ll never be Shakespeare, Milton, or Poe…but a poet all his own.
From his work, great poems will come, as his foundation is solid as stone.
He’ll write about people and places, and in time his light will be shone.
Some poems will be up, and others down, and a few of dreams he knew.
His thoughts and work gave him a passion for life, to which he will be true.
So tell a friend, and buy his book, have them use it in their school.
It’s the history of people, places, and things, a beautiful history jewel.
His life went to dust but now thrives, and he’ll gladly continue to work. 
The rest of his life he’ll be a great poet, it’s a responsibility he’ll never shirk.
In his poems, his hope, bright soul, and heart will continue to shine.
It’s something that again calls to his heart, that he can say is truly mine.

Impress Me4 Epic Carol Eastman Written 2009... for all poets...

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2014

Details | Economy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The City And The State Of Play Today


No one worries about morals today 
They follow the rules they create
So to them all is ok
Those on the outside looking in 
Are the only ones feeling queasy 
As avarice and selfishness triumphs
So easily 

Good corporate citizens they claim to be
Industry awards abound on their walls
As thank you tokens from themselves
Yet society harbours a lot of ill-will
As it feels the often brute force of 
The raid
And destroy mentality
Of people only wishing to make money 
Any which way 
While Using up all of society’s communal resources

Sharks abound
The waters are forever bloody as they 
Know no fraternity and would gladly 
Cannibalize anyone with no influence 
The ability to upend competitors
A cherished characteristic 
In a bullish machismo drenched environment 

Bullet proof psyches
Absorb and repel any pangs
About unfairness
Blocking any regulatory or chattering classes’
Attempt at nirvana and equality 
They employ better paid lobbyist 
So always have the upper hand 
In influencing policy 

The gravitational attraction of money 
Towards another even bigger pot of money 
Numbs any cautionary instinct
That would take a long term view 
The thrill of instant riches
Overpowers common sense 
And even decency 
Fat cats they all wish to be 

The slickness of glossy tongued lobbyist
Who spin wrongs till they become rights
Embolden oestrogen low males with no inbuilt brakes
To take risks that eventually cost them disgrace 
They are champions of graft not of society 

Loopholes in legislation
That were built in by too friendly politicians 
Coupled with ambiguous suits and claims
Cause far reaching hardship when the good old days are long gone 
The villains only muster some phantom national pride
 When begging for a lighter sentence 
Some are forgiven
Others fatally wounded by an unforgiving public

Lots of money can be made both legally and illegally
As one racket is closed another materialises instantly
The conveyor belt of dishonesty
Overwhelms bureaucracy 
Who is not David to the goliath that is money

The ethos is wealth
The acquisition and the maintaining of gains
Not often acquired through hard work
There is no limit of acceptable financial comfort
For the millionaire always wants to be a billionaire
And the mega rich super rich

Money must always be hidden from the taxman
Shareholders want tax free dividends
Investors want tax breaks for buying with other people’s money 
Infrastructure and new runways must be built 
But not from the pocket of those who wish it 

With their hands outstretched
And always wanting more and more
From a government too eager to please 
We have a tax system geared to the advantage of party donors
And non-domiciled moguls and tycoons
Who know no philanthropy unless it is tax efficient 

Disadvantaging society by  
Never paying their fair and moral share 
The largess they reap so selfishly
They wish not to share 
Wages are low
Taxes are nil
Only the investor wins as we pay his bills

Fast paced expansionist dogma
Is preached within city limits
Only the highest paid
The biggest company
The greatest profits
Are allowed 
They are held up as ideals that all who
Wish to succeed must follow
Gunslingers they all appear to be
Rushing in to capitalize on the wanton success of their peers
The cloud of misery left behind 
Is never seen for the look forward 
Never backward 
Hindsight is never welcomed in this parasitic environment 

The political will to weed out these reckless demons
Is lukewarm at best 
The revolving door of government creating opportunities
For industry and industry gratefully accepting politicians post government 
Ensures that self-interest is king 

An economy built on flawed assumptions of wealth creation
Is one that must forever be in hyper-drive
Creating ever expanding demand and supply 
That is as real as a thief’s conscience 
When taking the rings off a dead persons fingers 

Money must always be made for 
There is no alternative 
Wealth is good
Poverty to them is laziness

The city is not the heart and soul
Of the nation
It is but one player in a system skewed in its favour
We all must share in the wealth of this country
To ensure its longevity  

Copyright © evrod samuel | Year Posted 2013

Details | Economy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Good News Day

The sun rose this morning
Things are going our way

Frost and drought
Did not destroy crops
There’s food for the world – Lick your chops

A truce finally came in the Mideast
Soldiers are coming home
No more to war will they roam

Cures have been found for Ebola and cancer
All who were ill are now well
We’ll never again hear the death knell

Washington D.C. is rejoicing
A new president won election
The economy is headed in a better direction

All who want jobs are now working
Teachers, nurses, street cleaners too
Accolades abound for this major breakthrough

Harmony prevails throughout the world
All religions and cultures have united as one
No one need carry a gun

Environmental protection efforts are working
Let’s rejoice with a sip of wine
Prayers have been answered by a Creator divine

*October 18, 2014

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2014

Details | Economy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Little Boy

Little boy with a toy gun
Dreams of all that might be fun
To be fully clad in combat gear
And go into battle with no fear
A hero he would like to be
Even though he cannot see
That heroes today are hard to discern
From the victims created without concern
By politicians who think it fine
To support an economy based on crime
Who is it that wins in war
Politicians corporations so many more
Who never see the horror and gore
Just sit at home adding up the score
Measured by profits next quarter’s gain
Riding the military gravy train
Little boy think real hard
You mustn’t ever disregard
What life would be like to come home scarred
Or in a box with an honor guard
The government issues you combat boots 
Then leaves you homeless and destitute
TBI PTSD paraplegic or amputee
The VA tries to serve them well
But the government that sent them to hell
Makes many promises then builds a wall
Cutting off resources creating a pall
So many veterans waiting in pain
Ignored by their country
Such a great shame
Little boy with a toy gun
War really isn’t very much fun
Put aside your dreams of glory
Listen to the veterans sad true story

H Tunick  July 2015

Copyright © Howard Tunick | Year Posted 2015

Details | Economy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Harlem Blues

It's night now in harlem, time to explore
Snakes are diurnal, rats love their nocturnal
Life, the subway is a swinging door.
A cockroach crawls before it falls
Catalectic between the broken walls.
It's time to pay the rent and feed children
Feeding themselves from a golden arch
Of junk. Sunday's money is gone to heaven
But Sunday's soul is strung out in a park.

The boundaries of black life draw tourists 
From away places, easy to find on Harlem
Streets young girls window shopping closed stores
And vermins that never meets the eyes
When day is bright. Young boys in their pack
Cannot prowl alone, someone must watch the crack
In the wall, the sound of shadowy foot falls
The blind bullet speeding towards a sighless back.

She comes click clacking through the door,
A stilletto shaft of light on the puddle of gore
Why are all her children dead so young?
What happen to black boys in their dreams
To belong? Sisters, be strong, keep the veins
On idle from the needle punctuating
The decisions of a real sinister man. Sisters, I hear
In the blues, thin pointed, small stilletto shoes
Walking through cold, papers blowing the evening news
Across the tangled sounds of aimless feet.

A scrawny, melodramatic light, shines 
Where the streets lamps dispossessed of bulbs
Points to the origin of the curling incense 
A sweet cat reads children  fairy tales 
On a carpet that will not fly.
We have a new president
Looking like Malcolm talking like King
But since sister Tubman left us
The genii blew out the lamp
Who is circling the wagon, who is pulling camp?

This north is still far from promiseland
The only thing not found on the ground 
In Harlem is cotton,
It is too white for self inflicted wounds.
Cotton burns,  it would burn in the night.
We who plant it has none of its delights.
Pour me a pint of blues, give me light
My sorrow drives the economy,
If I die what pall will bear testimony
To the wreaths of wind shivering inthe empty space
Of the shuttered mall.

Read fairy tales Harriet, meant well but went the wrong way
Pinkerton did not stop her, hope decentralizes the wealth
But Marcus, O Marcus was a different thing
They had to prison him. He knew the way to go
Flip flapping wind sail and no stilletto toe
Could carry this burden across so much salt of water
Through these hypertensions of night. Cry for Marcus
To come from his whirlwind, a hollow laughter echoes here.

Copyright © L'nass Shango | Year Posted 2009

Details | Economy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

One Knee

Poet:  Ken Jordan 
Poem:  One Knee 
Edited by:  Sparkle Jordan 
written:  September 2017

One Knee
Yes, I kneel down on one knee 
damn right I do -
I will not honor an Anthem 
of a country that don’t honor me -
One Knee 
I was a SLAVE when 
President Thomas Jefferson,
(who owned hundreds of SLAVES)
wrote the Declaration Of
Independence  -
“We hold these truths to be
self evident, that all men are
created equal, that they are 
endowed by their Creator 
with certain unalienable 
Rights, that among these
are Life, Liberty, and the
pursuit of Happiness.”
One Knee 
the racist Founding Fathers of
a new Nation from George 
Washington to Ulysses S. Grant
One Knee 
When Francis Scott Key,
was inspired to write:
“O’er the land of the free
and the home of the brave.”
these are the lines we don’t 
sing to the Anthem we praise  -
“No refuge could save the 
hireling and slave, from the 
terror of flight or the gloom
of the grave.  And the star-
spangled banner in triumph 
doth wave.  O’er the land of
the free and the home of the
One Knee
I was down on One Knee
long before SLAVE owner
Francis Scott Key, wrote 
the National Anthem  -
He wasn’t honoring me, and
the 6 million enslaved blacks
in these United States  -
One Knee
the Atlantic Slave Trade 
in 1619 -
One Knee
On the Slave Ship Brookes, 
across the Atlantic Sea -
One Knee
Through the induction of the
American Flag in 1777
One Knee
The Slave Trade Act Of 1783
One Knee
Jamestown, Virginia., where I 
was a slave, sold off to work the
Tobacco crops for the North 
American Colonies  -
One Knee
Yes, I kneel down on One Knee
damn right I do -
I will not honor an Anthem 
of a country that don’t honor me -
One Knee
A slave I be, solidifying the 
South’s economy when I invented 
the Cotton Gin in 1793. 
One Knee
The Louisiana Purchase in
One Knee 
The Westward expansion in
One Knee
The Abolition movement 
to set slaves free -
One Knee
Yes, I kneel down on One Knee
 damn right I do -
I will not honor an Anthem 
of a country that don’t honor me -
One Knee
Through the American Civil War
One Knee
Through the Unions victory over 
the Confederate South -
4 million slaves freed from
One Knee 
Through the tumultuous 
Reconstruction years (1865-77) 
I kneeled -
One Knee 
Through the Emancipation 
Proclamation 1863
“All slaves henceforth shall be
set free.”  Abraham Lincoln 
He was assassinated over my
black skin -
One Knee 
The Montgomery Bus boycott, 1955
when Rosa Parks, refused to give up
her seat in the front of the bus -
One Knee
Through the Civil Rights Movement 
in the 1960’s -
One Knee
The Civil Rights Act 1964
The Voting Rights Act 1965
One Knee
through the assassination of
Dr Martin Luther King Jr., 
“Drum Major Of Peace” 1968
damn right I kneel down 
on One Knee 
Though I respect “Old Glory,”
I will not stand with my hand to
my chest, to honor a country that
discredit, dehumanize, demoralize, oppress through racial injustice and inequality.
One Knee
Police brutality;
who kill us, and not be held
One Knee
the ignorance of a U.S. President, 
spouting derogatory words to
black mothers, and sons exercising 
their Civil Rights -
One Knee
Yes, I kneel down on one knee 
damn right I do -
I will not honor an Anthem 
of a country that don’t honor me -

Copyright (c)., Ken Jordan 2017

Copyright © Ken Jordan | Year Posted 2017

Details | Economy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A big problem

Once there was a famous king,
More famous than Ozymandias.
His name was King Wolf. 
Sultan was his nickname.
He called himself a benevolent despot;
And his style of government 
A ‘democratic dictatorship.’

He spoke good English— 
A foreign language, though; 
Only a minor problem with 'l' and 'r': 
Once, for instance, a reporter asked him,
"What about elections, Your Majesty?"
His response: 
"Why, I have them everyday!" 
The poor reporter was thoroughly confused.

His kingdom was a land of superlatives:
The oldest civilization,
The largest standing army,
The largest population,
The largest exporter—of people,
The largest emitter of carbon dioxide, 
Now the second largest exporter of goods, too,
And will soon be the largest.

Since his was the most populous kingdom,
Demography was his obsession,
Which he called his specialization.
Of course, Sultan had tried his best
To check population growth— 
By means of family planning.
It didn't work.
So he curbed people’s Right to have children.
But still there was a huge difference
Between the optimum number
And ground reality!

Therefore, Sultan hatched a wonderful plan:
Started a war with a friendly neighbour.
Every section of twenty soldiers in his army
Had just one primitive rifle between them:
If a soldier went on,
He would be shot.
If he went back,
Again, he would be shot.
A Catch-22!
Many of his men were slaughtered.
But still Sultan won—by sheer numbers!
Oh, God!
But the King did not believe in God.
Like king, like people!

But the dead soldiers were only a small number.
So, now another plan:
Government is the boss.
Let people overwork.
Sultan cracked the whip.
And a number of people died—
Of overwork, year after year.
Further reduction in population.

Production increased:
Cheap goods flooded the world market:
From PCs to push-up bras.
No warranty.
The economy boomed.
Ah, his kingdom became a Big Power!

But once some workers gathered 
In the Capital and protested—
Against exploitation.
The name of Karl Marx was in the air.
“Listen,” Sultan roared, “Marx died—
Long ago.
So should you—now, 
For raising his name in vain.”
So, still further reduction in population!

Now, when this narrative ended, 
Sultan was busy, planning for another war.
Poor soul!
How else could he solve the problem—
Of overpopulation?!


Copyright © Ram R. V. | Year Posted 2017

Details | Economy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Christmas Castaways

Christmas Castaways

My good friend Jerry’s unemployment had run out
I feared print journalism’s future was in doubt

But while we commiserated on Christmas Eve
A disheartening report was broadcast on TV

Local law enforcement had been busy that day
People found living in the woods had been cast away

These homeless families had set up tents on state land
And police had ordered these squatters to disband

How heartless it seemed that these souls should be tossed out
Poor folks who had nothing and learned to do without

We shut off the TV, couldn’t take it anymore
And headed for a café with joyful décor

Just twenty degrees as we drove down the highway
Where a sight neath a bridge caused far more dismay

A couple and their small child huddled together
Trying hard to stay warm in cold winter weather

Sad images of Bethlehem flashed through my mind
With no room at the inn for the savior of mankind

I looked at my friend and he returned my glance
We both felt this family needed a second chance

“Pull over,” he murmured, “we can’t just leave them here
These folks deserve to share in our holiday cheer”

So money that could have bought steak dinners for two
We used to buy hamburgers for our five-member crew

Some cash left over for a room at Motel Six
Not a real solution – a temporary fix

We returned Christmas Day; our church would take them in
But they had checked out; it was half past eleven

For long I’ve wondered what happened to this family
And what each Christmas holds for those who are needy 

*Recollection of Christmas, 2007, when the economy started to fail.

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010

Details | Economy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Chopstick Chatter

A Chinese lad was at table dawdling with his pork and rice.
This upset his mama-san who reprimanded him in a trice!
"Clean your plate!  Children in America are starving, son!"
And she continued to berate him - her tirade had only begun!

"Your papa-san has a great job while dads in America are on the dole.
Our economy is booming while that of America is lagging, on the whole!
Papa makes good money to provide Americans with the things they need.
You should be very thankful for the jobs they send here, yes indeed!"

"Kids in America can't get a job even with a college education,
But, son, America will provide you with a job in any old vocation!
This is the land of opportunity, my boy, thanks to American capitalists!
You must appreciate all they have done for us Chinese communists!"

"Not so long ago your father and I didn't have a yuan to our name.
Now we have a house and brand new car - life will never be the same!
So I don't want to hear any of your sass or fiddling with your food.
Thanks to the generous Americans, they have lifted our nation's mood!"

"I want you to clean your plate and grow strong to follow in your dad's shoes.
Uncle Sam needs you to make TVs and shirts or anything else they choose.
No more lip!  Clean your plate! I want to see those chopsticks flying!
Think about the kids in America who'll got to bed tonight hungry and crying!"

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2012

Details | Economy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Seer's Text

The frost like manna fell and fled
And after it so much was dead
Brown and shriveled the garden bed
We will increase price: all they said
But I saw the crumbling paradigm here
The crutched economy, the drizzling fear
And natures omen so dusty white
The trembling truth in open sight

Be not so stark the paupers scold
Lie to us too, defy the cold
We have country, let us be hold
Though from pole to pole thunders roll
My faith is in God, not what transpires here
The coming kingdom and its Christ now draws near
From flood to famine I see all
Earth's demise and the human gall.

Copyright © L'nass Shango | Year Posted 2011

Details | Economy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Harvey the Hippo

Harvey the Hippo

Harvey is a huge hippopotamus
Who bathes in a bay that is bottomless
HIs mouth is as large as a riverboat barge
And he weighs ten times more than a lot of us

Big Harvey isn’t nasty or troublesome
Nor like other guys who are double dumb
He just wanders around stomping the ground
Looking for pieces of bubble gum

Harvey owns a fine yellow cummerbund
And sewn on the back is the number one
He wears it right proudly and bellows quite loudly
While playing outside in the summer sun

Once Harvey met up with a crocodile
Together they decided to walk a mile
Near the shore they strolled, but the water got cold
So they sat down to talk on the dock a while

Eating Oreo cookies about four apiece
They talked about matters of war and peace
They discussed the economy, art, and astronomy
And the huge immigration of foreign geese

Then walking back toward his new shiny house
Harvey stopped for a chat with a tiny mouse
Her name was Du Barry; they decided to marry
And soon come a baby named Stanislaus

A handsome young child was Stanislaus
Dressed up in his fine silken Spanish blouse
They all had made history; this was no mystery
For Stan was the first Hippopotamouse

Huge Harvey adored his sweet ladylove
From her wee little feet to her head above
He brought her some strings and other fine things
Including a snowy white turtledove

Harvey has grown really mellow now
He seldom produces a bellow now
But if you’re down by the bay, you can still see him play
This wondrous and gentle old fellow now

Copyright © alan balter | Year Posted 2017

Details | Economy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Aquarian Age

Did our Age of Aquarius evaporate,
fail to regenerate,
to resonate,
fall too far short of what our parents
knew we should anticipate?
Free love could not sustain
weak non-violent resolutions against
whatever busyness was for.

Yet, if love is synergy,
mutual gravity,
and creation is this co-passion's regenerate transgeneration,
how could love cost more than free?
How could co-redemption not invest everything
in learning how to cooperatively Be,
free of enslaving supremacist becoming,
free to come together as ecological We?

Those who stop to count these costs of love,
look for ways to divest of co-opportunity,
ignoring Earth's mentoring economy
of light's photosynthetic comprehensive consciousness,
of neutral's dark unconsciousness,
a fog bank evaporating as double-binding time and rhythm
pattern and color RNA's free-fractal love connection.

If Time's eternal unfolding presence is 0-dimensional,
and Nature's bicameral perception is 2-dimensional prime,
bicameral form with function,
ego emerging from eco,
yang incarnating double-yin,
reiterative communicative processors
borrow RNA's decomposing 3-space with 1-time prime bilateral dimensions,
equivalent seasons;

Shy winterish Uracil of Universal freely decomposing love
greets Cytosine's full summer-formed regeneration,
as objectives greet their past and future subjects;
while Adenine painlessly springs
for Guanine's lavishly com-posted integrative harvest,
as verbs form fractal-recycling nouns,
verbal con-science revolutions,
relearning Earth's organic language,
by echoing universal polypathic syntax.

Universal monocultural power of governance
becomes a Left-brained dominant and reductive tyrant,
an Emperor reified of clothes
to cool His naked Ego-thirst.
when power remains integral within co-passionate,
gravitational integrity,
synergetic uniting cooperatism,
then naked power conjoins dark yin-time-ations,
shy bigendering romantic camouflage,
re-birthing this post-millennial 
Age of Aquarius.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2015

Details | Economy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Deep Voodoo

trickle down economy pissing away the poor pissing off the middle class as less and less our paychecks pay the bills ironic how when I was still in diapers the rich got taxed a whole lot more and yet Prosperity - along with rock and roll - was King Now it’s all about protecting those whose money no one sees as it sits in nice safe havens Make a war - no money to sustain it Let the wealth come down TRICK-TRICK TRICK ling down to you and me T R I C K l i n g . For Brendan J. Simon's 'Societal Discontent' contest

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013

Details | Economy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Just a Few Questions, Lord

Lord, why is it that when we see articles about aborting your babies,
we move on to something else ... and even sometimes get angry? 
Why do we argue among ourselves about that?     

Is it true, even in these days of scientific break throughs,
that some of your people still believe that abortion 
is not the killing of a Human Being?    
Isn’t it strange that the killing of babies, which used to be considered evil 
at one time, is now considered . .a right?     
 Even we that are graced enough to still deem it to be wrong, vote for abortion 
proponents without a fight.

Knowing of the politician’s abortion voting record, why do
we vote for them anyway with some other excuse  in mind?           

Oh Lord when you return; ..  just what will you find?

You said,  “Love each other as I have loved you.” 
...Will we argue with You also when our life here is through?

You see Lord we were only voting for the “ choice”  to kill your babies.  
Choice is the key word here, don’t you see?
I’m sure You must understand legality.

We wouldn’t kill them ourselves. We only pay others to do it with our taxes etc.
So if others I vote for push for laws to "legally" kill them,  
what’s that got to do with me ?

I didn’t vote for them on that account, it had to do with the economy you see.  
 Am I my brother’s keeper?  Besides, those babies have never met me.

You also said, Lord, “Seek ye the Kingdom of God and all else will be given unto you.”  
Knowing what really happens when we vote for “choice”, 
is that still seeking the Kingdom of God?

So Lord, I was thinking….. Your statement about Seeking the Kingdom of God …
..and all else shall be given unto you…..  Is that choice too?

 Is voting for politicians that we know push for more abortion rights....
Is that seeking the Kingdom of God .. if they call it "Choice" or "Women's rights"? 
 And if not … what will we get if we choose not to seek it
... you know... by voting for one 
who has a record of pushing to kill Your babies. 
Isn’t that our choice too? Do we get to vote on that, Lord?
I mean, You know, voting on what we want 
that statement of Yours to mean?

Let us know about that okay, Lord? 
I thought for sure you already had.

Thanks for your time Lord. I mean  .. seriously … 
Thanks for  “YOUR Time.”

Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2010

Details | Economy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Black Death

The ooze keeps flowing; bleeding, the earth cries,
"Someone help!! Stop the leaching; stop the black death!!"
Cover the wounds of greed, cover the sickness.
Help the innocent lives, being destroyed by this flow.
Pulsing, life of the USA, our heartbeat is weakening with each gallon lost.
Who will revive the country? Who is our super hero? Who has the courage?
Black gold has turned to our death.

**Thank God for our mothers, family and friends. 
God in heaven, hear my plea, give the engineers the knowledge to stop the oil flow 
into the Gulf and help the sea life to escape. Keep the people safe who work and live 
on the coast and restore the economy of the USA. Forgive us our sins, keep us safe, 
praise you for your blessings!! I pray in Jesus's name, Amen Thank you Jesus!!

Copyright © Doris Culverhouse | Year Posted 2010

Details | Economy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

All That I Know

Of Beauty, 
All I know is that it varies proportionally to the label on your jeans.

Of Physics, 
All I know is I get up in the morning and fall down at night.

Of History, 
All I know is what I can't see anymore is past, and what I'm afraid to see is future.

Of Music, 
All I know is one man's Bach is another man's Zeppelin.

Of Stability, 
All I know is that it's unstable.

Of Humor, 
All I know is that it makes us realize what idiots we really are.

Of Economy, 
All I know is that it's like a lobotomy.

Of Adolescence, 
All I know is that it caused my parents to lose all of their brains.

Of Maturity, 
All I know is that somehow my parents found them again, probably under the loveseat or something.

Of Cars, 
All I know is that my stereo works.

Of Marriage, 
All I know is that it's something my friends do occasionally.

Of Divorce, 
All I know is that I could lose more than everything.


Copyright © Suburban Lovechild | Year Posted 2015