Best Hard Cash Poems
Each of us is born the main persona
in the narrative of his or her own life.
Through ever-changing atmosphere,
supporting characters and diversity of settings,
we help to mold the rising action of our own tale.
A great variety of characters abound in our stories.
Some of them, bright pennies tossed into existence,
spin wildly on exploits which make for
the most gripping of preliminary chapters.
However, their denouement is hard to guess.
Others, silver dollar, sparkle too,
but in a much less compromising way.
I suppose most of us could fit into that category.
Giddily we dance through early life’s events.
Then on and on we go, unraveling our plot,
striving always for happily-ever-afters.
A smaller group, Olympian, glide like skaters
on ice. Not only blessed, they are also driven.
Their chronicles inspire us; they are gold!
Others, although colorful, when held up to the light,
they are shown as counterfeit, the perpetrators of pure fiction.
A few, by fate and nature not so blessed, may court insanity,
or at the very least, create confusion
with their crises that seem to come unceasingly
yet often fail to find resolution.
Possibly, if given a good polishing,
they could be diamonds in the rough!
There are others who are the spawn of a society gone wrong.
They stalk our paths, as unfeeling as assassins.
The pages from their lives can horrify.
However, those who wield great power
are also often morally corrupt, and
if their stories live on, it’s in infamy only.
These types of souls are nothing but
cold, hard cash, and paper burns or crumbles
in the end.
A final group is joyless.
Given something . . . giving nothing back,
they hoard the talents God gifted them.
They wonder woefully why no one wants
to open their books to even read
the parts that once had held some promise.
For them it would be better to have been
a rusting copper penny in dread of its own conclusion
than even an evil-doer whose story titillates
and at least gets read.
after doors close after hours when scarlet neon flickers out red-light nights fill voids of need my body is a ripped flower my throat tingles to the burn of vodka-fire gleaning the gleaming water-washed street for an answer to the latest outstanding bill sadly grateful for the slightest footfall twenty for oral forty for full car park dark steam-heavy dark not streetwalking but streetstaggering in hollow-pod hell anaemic-ashy and vodka-fumy amorphous shadows loitering on durex-dotted waste ground in secret alleys back to dank brick or deep throating down on my knees skirt around thighs fingers come-pearled and slick come quick after doors close after hours when scarlet neon flickers out cold glitter of streetlights gleam of cold hard cash cold kisses colder touch no eye contact look away the cold nothingness that we say
Patrick O’Flanagan’s covert shenanigans
Make people ask where he gets to at night
There’s a perception that Patrick O’Flanagan
Visits a door with a glowing red light
What people don’t know about Patrick O’Flanagan
Is he has only one goal
Each night at ten to ten, visits his gran again
She does a dance with a pole
Old Ma O’Flanagan dances for Stan and Ben
Over in County Kildare
The nurses and carers all turn a blind eye
As Stan sticks his pension ‘down there’
Pat’s her announcer, he's also her bouncer
He keeps them old fellas in check
Old Ben can get frisky and that’s a bit risky
Unless he desires a sore neck
These is the rules says Patrick O’Flanagan
That shrivelled todger of yours
Grandma will make that old thing come awake again
And you place hard cash down her drawers
But Ben said those wrinkles don’t pep up our winkles
We only watch her to rehearse
For what we might see on the CCTV
When you nip out back with that nurse
For a long time, we had black hell.
Now, we both exhale in green paradise.
Now, we live quiet as mice.
Green everywhere, isn't it nice?
Not much fighting, like before.
Lots of loving and much more.
Green all over the floor.
Not just cold hard cash,
Not just a long love rash,
But growth and multiplication,
Of our legacy and the world,
Being shown that we are,
Actually meant to be .
The hood's best of both world's,
Unite and soar, green and high
In the bountiful, blue sky.
Green paradise is more than nice.
It's delightful and insightful.
It's not jealous and not spiteful.
Green paradise in the pastures,
Of pure love is a life togehter,
That's destined by the one
Up above.
9-2-12
copyright 2012... Nicole S. Brown All rights reserved.
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If I were famous, I would hide
Behind gates of that gilded cage
Displayed, my privacy denied
Burned by hot spotlights of the stage
Not for me is the glittered path
My face splashed across TV screens
Where strangers ask for autographs
I am the handmaid, not the queen
Celebrity can do some good
Help out a charitable cause
Supplying medicine and food
Giving true heroes the applause
I'm not immune to gold's allure
For cold hard cash, I just might switch
But from fame's name, I would detour
To be anonymously rich.
3/16/21
How cowardly could it be to
Prefer to hurt everyone except yourself?
Walking out the door when it gets too hot
And everything is perfect
Dark and blue lighting streaming into the blank faces glaring into the television of our lives
What happens behind closed doors
Drawn blinds
Ebony Corridors
Physical poetry blown out of proportion into dangerous schemes
To leave before the system is rendered defenseless
All the aches and bitter choking on addictive tendencies
Packing up and leaving before it's too late
To hand him the rope and tie it lovingly around his neck
And watch him sway
Its better this way, I say from underneath full lashes and a pout
And he smiles and trusts me as he kicks the chair and
Hangs, choking on my perfume lingering in the air
Diabolical chemicals mixing up with miscommunication of misplaced love
Blows me a last kiss
I toss the match
And he goes up in flames
Walking away to find another sucker with cold hard cash and a surplus sex drive
Noting his smile and eye color
Tailor fitting the noose to perfection
One after another
Pushing the backs of chairs with quick stiletto heels
Lines of brave men
Dangling like leaves
woman, oh woman
even after your
constant, daily
treatment of abuse
I demonstrated
I could have been
your karate kid.
In your defense
did I not impulsively
stand tall between
two warring giants
me, a whippet of a kid
arms outstretched
like sabre swords
pleading don't hurt
her....
taking blows
meant for you.
You the one that
inflicted pain 24/7
twisting the
tender skin off
my arm flesh and
leaving huge welts
that stung like
scorpion hot chilies
the umpteen mountainous
goose-egg bumps
you planted on
my tiny forehead
with knuckles
constructed of iron steel.
I demonstrated
a compassionate heart
in dreadful moments,
woman, oh woman
where was your
loving heart
standing in as mother
to an abandoned child
now trapped in a
poor, blazing hellhole.
With fresh eyes anew
...my learned enlightenment
I now understand your
sole/soul's motivation was
the almighty dollar
... hard cash that never
came through for you.
Pure and simple ...
avaricious by nature
most certainly
not nurture and,
please excuse me
while I laugh
you claim
to be a
christian!
Hmm, I say
hypocritical
and evil
to the core.
Those days of faithful sidekicks have all but passed us by,
We’d rather watch car crashes or someone blown sky-high.
Playing the second fiddle was Gabby’s first jackpot:
For Tom Tyler, Hoppy, Roy and even Randolph Scott.
But in a world gone loco and too-filled with this and that,
We still wonder what became of Gabby Hayes’ hat.
He was the shabby coot we could barely comprehend,
But when all the chips were down, we knew just who to send.
His hat was folded back, dog-eared, battered and threadbare—
Rough and scratchy like his face, but he was always there.
But now too few remember his rasping codger chat—
We wish the world was simple as Gabby Hayes’ hat.
Is it now in a museum or sold for cold, hard cash
Or buried there with him or thrown away with the trash?
They just don’t make any sidekicks like Gabby Hayes now,
With that gray-whiskered mug, long hair and that furrowed brow.
And there’s no singing cowboys unless from Nashville town—
And now they just wear the hats but not the cowboy crown.
Yet as the world passes by and we grow old and fat,
We still wonder what became of Gabby Hayes’ hat.
This is the latest news about some enterprising individuals...
Making their reputations with a big bang while others slumber..
Presumably amateurs for they dabbled with fire crackers...
Theirs was an outrageous act of crime that was no laughing matter...
Their little stunt of exploding a Automatic Teller Machine or ATM..
Yielded cold hard cash of some cool RM70,000 from the exploded ATM..
It happened the wee early hours in some obscure little sleepy town ...
You can bet your last dollar that this little caper is now the talk of the town..
In the swirling aftermath of this crime, the local inhabitants had no idea..
Who were the criminals who smartly embarked on such a novel idea...
What an explosive way to withdraw money, illegal money galore...
A quick getaway in the wee early hours, none the wiser who they were...
Looks like the horse has flown the barn as the police hastened into action..
A little too late, the burglars have flown the coup and from retribution...
Only time will tell if this audacious criminal gang will be finally hauled in..
But the fact remains, they have made an instant fortune of RM70,000 all in...
Not a bad haul, a rather tidy sum in cold cash for the gang members...
Undoubtedly they will be splitting their ill gotten gains altogether....
As long as these gang members keep away from the long arm of the law ....
They will get to enjoy the spoils of their heist, until their funds run low...
Then it is time again for another such caper in some small town...
For there are numerous such cash dispensing machines all over town...
The maxim crime does not pay does not hold water for these criminals...
Very soon the local internet media will be abuzzed with their next haul...
http://www.thestar.com.my/news/nation/2016/05/11/robbers-blast-atm-escape-with-rm70000/
Cash Gifts Only
By Elton Camp
The wedding invitation was unusually frank
“Only gifts that can be deposited in the bank”
They’re not interested in some crummy toaster
Or even that new high-speed turkey roaster
They won’t even bother to take a look
At a worthless gift of some stupid book
Sets of towels and sheets they so abhor
Because they already have them, galore
After all, two years they lived together
So to have cold, hard cash they’d rather
They’ve decided and hope you don’t mind
Any presents other than cash they’ll decline
“It’s the thought that counts” they don’t believe
Plenty of the “long green” they want to receive
If it’s not enough to cover the cost of your seat,
At the ceremony, they’d prefer you not to meet
So if as a wedding guest you expect to count
Give cash and make it a substantial amount
We had a few puffs
and had a few scuffs
drank wine and some beer
listened to the old songs
sittin' in the new Fongs
on across the road from the TC Square
I had an old truck all patched up with luck
destination Bay de Verde
logged off for the night
breakfast at first light
listening to songs of birds
Before hittin' the road I checked the load
the shrimp are like cold hard cash
when we left the old town
I had to gear her down
because the Jake brake was taped to the dash
into the morning sun we had become
Snow Crab headed for stores
you know who we are
me and my Western Star
gearing up for our long journey home
Sea food!
food from the sea
truckin' along !
you won't catch me
I'm haulin' shrimp
we are carrying ice
watch out for the water
cause it don't smell nice!
A man walks by in a gray polyester suit
He tells another man to call him Juice
The other man in bright orange hunter's clothes, he looks bold and brash
He tells Juice to call him Cold Hard Cash
They sit at the bus bench to discuss a new business they want to start
It all begins tomorrow around the corner at the local trailer park
Cold Hard Cash tells Juice, this is my last 500 bucks, but what the heck
It all started when the Master Pimp met with the Ultimate Red Neck
Cold Hard Cash tells Juice, follow me, I will give you the grand tour
Starting at my trailer on lot number four
As they enter Cold Hard Cash's place, it smells like rotting potatoes
Juice enters and slips on some cherry tomatoes
Cold Hard Cash says here and hands Juice a plate of sauerkraut and dogs
He tells Juice, if you stick around for supper, I will roast us some frogs
Juice asks Cold Hard Cash, after we eat, can I be given the golden key to the
park
Cold Hard Cash, says let's go next door we will begin at Judy Starks
Juice goes with Cold Hard Cash to interview their first employee in their line of
money makers
After the interview, Judy says yes, Juice comments, she's a real shaker
At the next interview, the girl shows them why her picture used to be on Breck
This all transpired when the Pimp Master hooked up with the Ultimate Red Neck
Juice says we need one more so we can rotate them around the clock
We will put them to work outside the laundry mat and liquor store, which are on
the same block
Cold Hard Cash asks what if one calls in sick
Juice answers in a business voice, then one of the others will pull a double shift
Juice points and asks what about this place
Cold Hard Cash says you don't want to see her face to face
Cold Hard Cash says she's the one they used to design Shrek
Good luck with your business, Master Pimp and the Ultimate Red Neck
The first time I met Mei Is Woe, I felt so badly, I begged our co-workers to give up a sick day in the sick day fund, not realizing they had done that so many times, it would not be an easy collection.
Our selfish co-workers flatly and adamantly refused to contribute to Mei Is Woe’s flower fund, even after I told them about her bursitis, lupus, and long time suffering boyfriend’s non re-election.
I wasn’t going to share this, I admitted, pulling out the big guns, because poor Mei asked me not to, but she’s out sick today, to straighten out her unfortunate drug-addicted relatives, who are anything but perfection.
Yes, completely honest Mei is Woe had nothing but trouble, and no matter how hard I begged, or how much she suffered, our co-workers seemed non-caring, and totally un-eager to help with my well-intended collections
Finally, In-the Know, another fairly new co-worker heard the “truth” as we like to say and said, Bill, you might as well give up, no one is going to contribute, and I tell you this with total love and affection.
I already knew it though, because I had spent the morning going room to room, and spoken to everybody, about my grave concerns for sweet, darling, forth-coming Mei’s well-being, and what we could do with good intentions.
Mei is Woe texted me at midnight last night that her long-suffering mother who had recently had a heart attack, was precariously close to death, and she needed cold hard cash, for her oven which was on the blink, convection.
Several insensitive colleagues howled with laughter upon hearing this news, sharing that Mei Is Woe’s mother had passed in ’84, ’91, and ’08 before they started writing down for what went the money collection.
Mei is Woe was eliminated from my phones after she abandoned me for a psychiatrist, who would not write a doctor’s excuse, but whisked her away from the world, possibly understanding Mei is Woe’s chronic affliction.
See, forty bucks in cold, hard cash
can fill your trailer with gin trash.
And for growing fine tomatoes,
forty's pretty small potatoes.
The big box products like Black Cow
will truly set you back, and how!
The cotton hulls and seeds and stems
ejected from the cotton gin,
stored a year in a giant pile,
makes the heart leap and brings a smile.
Earthy, loamy, a little sour,
magical black growing power.
By the barrow, then tilled under,
it's a veggie growing wonder.
Its Round-up contents raise concerns;
the pile's so hot, it nearly burns.
Big veggies are the things it grows,
but I'll look out for extra toes.
A lot of ‘what ifs’ have made my mind snuffle
a missed chance to say something gets my extremities cold
it is obvious how my eyes gyrate to his gestures
everyone sees the chemistry but he wants it in hard cash
I love him, love him, love him! My heart in need of embrocation
accidentally, shopping in the same place, my throat goes inflamed
an hour of periodic stare at each other produces just a ‘hi’
what an ignorant moron and an annoying colt!
Love can just happen but I understand, it’s not completely divine
life would be hell’s backdoor if I’m not the eventual winner
we meet again, this time he’s in a mesmerizing Tuxedo
a clear derby match, my lungs jump out to hide under my feet
direct isn’t my thing, so I drive through the outerbelt
chipping the little paper in his pocket, inscribed with my number
his call twelve hours later captions “this is what I’ve been waiting for”.