Best Nickel And Dime Poems
THE OLD FART SONG
(sing to the tune of "Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys")
Verse one:
Old men ain't easy to love and they're harder to mold,
so train 'em when young, girls, don't wait till their bones have turned cold.
They're slow as molasses, wear cheap reading glasses, they're hearing aids give them away,
they grumble and mumble, they bumble and stumble, what hair they have left turns to gray.
Chorus:
Ladies, don't let your husbands survive to be old men,
Their best parts get limber, their brains turn to timber,
they spend too much time letting farts.
Ladies don't let your husbands survive to be old men,
because when they're home, you will wish you're alone
and they think they have all of the smarts.
Verse two:
Old men like old stuff, ain't that some strange stuff, how antiques will make 'em feel young?
They whistle like thistles, sling advice like missiles and sing like their a**es got stung.
They're always ploying and tinker toying, they usually, always repeat:
What did you say dear? SPEAK UP NOW, DAMMIT! and, When in the hell do we eat?
Repeat Chorus
Verse three:
Old men like talkin' way more than go-walkin', but listening, well, not so much.
Don't try to change him or even "re-range" him, or mess with his habits and such.
Changes upset him, so you better let him, still think he has plenty pizazz,
or he will snuffle, kerfuffle and shuffle, doin' stuff that's a pain in the azz.
repeat chorus
Verse four
They say that old soldiers don't die, that they just fade away,
it's the same with your old man... remember each dog has his day.
Don't nickel and dime him, remember to prime him, be kind as he turns into dust.
Through thick and through thin and through silly and sin, you're together for better or bust.
FInal Chorus
Ladies, don't let your husbands survive to be old men,
let 'em be babies and let 'em be children
and let 'em be heroes again.
Ladies, don't let your husbands survive to be old men,
When they hit bottom, be thankful you got 'em,
'Cause soon enough it will all end.
These Hallowed halls
Frequented by myth and griffin
Whose presence Guards these priceless minds
Protecting the unwritten novels
M C Squared and ingenious thoughts
The prophesy of zero one
This gluttony of ideas thirsting on capitalisms juice
Summoning their messiahs to walk among us
The commodities of life, this treasured bible
Children the future and Capitalism dissects,
Yet Another batch of disciples
So what care I for prophets of doom
Population before climate
Religion over peace
Vanity before reason
Pride over poverty
Cap and gown before that which created me
For I live high above these ghetto streets
Yet my peace is drowned by Evening chorus
Screams from the gutter
Another tattoo and the rush of heroin
Another type of messiah
Something for the poor to believe in
Just another nickel and dime resource to me
Yet to hear this is a damnation of me
This arrogance over nature
To control that thing
That shackles our existence
That jails our thoughts
Prostitutes our freedom
And lets us die without reason
This way of life
Of poverty and desperation
Of concrete and aborted foetus
Of welfare cheques and sex for sale
Of unhappy beings behind
Unhappy doors
Protecting their own portals of betrayal
In a private subjugated hell
For Compassion has left these mortal beings
And my mind is closed, for there is no profit for me
But conscience is my jury
And nailed to this holy cross
The verdict is written
Vermin under the butterfly
For compassion was never my thing?
And Human nature can be,
A most desperate thing.
You were in love with me
While I'd tell you I didn't love you,
And you continued on for a space...
Until I finally fell in love with you.
But you fell out with me
And kept telling me to my face.
Then my promised love got exhausted
While you were replenished;
Yet, you say it wasn't from my endeavors.
And now you're back in love with me.
But since... I've fallen out with you;
You franticly pull all my handles and levers.
Pushing all my buttons you realize
That we have never been in love
With each other at the exact same time,
And we know it's a crying shame
How quickly we always fall out
Exchanging rich love to nickel and dime.
You can give up that nasty habit if you try.
Just think of all the things your money will buy.
Each one of those houses is a den of debauchery.
They are clip joints just out to get your money.
When you dump at the tables or feed the machines,
the end result is usually some egregious scenes.
If you win, consider it a loan at the time.
You will return to pay back every nickel and dime.
Being broke is where most adventures will lead.
The house takes advantage of the weakness called greed.
Greed is the deadliest of the seven deadly sins.
In the long run, only the house is the one who wins.
One cent, two cents,
Nickel and dime
Two bits, four bits,
A dollar this time.
Ship me a grasshopper
Do me a crime
Fly like a whippoorwill
O'er Anaheim.
Tin can pan alley cat man
Nickel and dime No money blues
Also-ran derelict on the run no shoes
Some people are of the belief, that teacher come from one place
From a school or university, with degrees all over the wall
Know great big fancy words, recites Shakespeare
With IQ's a mile high, that would put most to a disgrace
When in reality, have no common sense at all
Have read all the books and can pass any test that might appear
Which is all fine and good, but there is a limit to everything
Like a preacher needs to practice what he preaches after a sermon
Like a teacher, should be able to use what he teaches in the field
If they cannot, all that knowledge doesn't mean a thing
Or he did not learn from his lesson
Therefore not much in his overall yield
I have been to a university and have a degree
It is just a piece of paper, not sure where the diploma is at
Vietnam War was going on and seemed like a good thing at the time
It was BS and so was the degree
Their version of ranching did not fit under my cowboy hat
But were ever so happy to take every nickel and dime
My best teacher have been old hobos and old cowboys
The ones that rode the rails and have been on a bronc or two
Knowing quitting time is when the job is done, not punching time clocks
Not saying a word for days at a time of making Saturday night noise
Working with what they had and doing what they had to do
THE REAL PROFFESSORS OF THE SCHOOL OR HARD KNOCKS
We blame the white man for all our misfortunes
We're doing the best we can
So damn it! If all else fails
Blame the white man
Ignorance prevails.
Standing on long welfare lines
Trying to scrape for every nickel and dime
Yet with such hard times
We still find
The time
To have three or four kids
Chances for success decrease
Stupidity -like a disease, spreads
Among our black people
I ask –Whose fault is this?
The white man doesn't like the color of our skin
Angered by this we come together to fight him off
Only to separate because we don't fit in
Within our own circle of people
But we said everyone is created equal
Hypocrites we are
But the white man is to blame for us not getting far
HA!
Blacker the Berry the Sweeter the Juice
How about -Blacker the Berry the Harsher the Abuse
From outside and in
My own brother don't like the color of my skin
So now I have to change
So I can fit in
Hold Up! Something isn’t right
As I pick up the bleaching cream
To make myself more white
To be socially accepted by my brother and the white man
Might as well put the money directly in his hand
And we wonder why
The rich is getting richer and the poor is getting poorer
Something we will continue to hear more of
If the white man continues to have control
Yeah, Let's blame the white man
But aren't you sick of the same story being told?
Now that Barack Obama is in control,
After setting a precedent
For being the first black president
There are high hopes for a dream that can possibly come true
But we will still walk around and complain
Losing sight of where to aim
And all I can do is wonder
Who's to blame?
You made a lot of money
selling lewd photos of nude
Then you parlayed your profits
into cyber surfing —
triple X cinema ***** crude
Nasty video sex business you were so into
Your vested interest was
a skin flick portfolio bankroll ...
Dirty money bottom line
Letting curious customers
put their cyber bit coins into the virtual pay slot
So they can take a ride on the carnal carousel
Then make them get off ...
Have them taste naked flesh boiling hot
in an abominable lascivious pot
You are so proud of yourself,
Mr. Sleazy bit coin billionaire
You make it so easy —
sex suckers love to lick poisoned lollipop sticks
Getting minds addicted to wicked desires,
those tempting tokens are gonna take ‘em there
You’re so filthy rich cavalier ...
crushing souls, you really don’t care
What those turned-out cyber tramps,
hopefully, will come to one day understand,
those grimy bit coins
is greasing somebody’s dirty hand
And that palm is on a beach somewhere
getting a penthouse triple X suntan
Bit coin billionaire,
you’re a dirty old man
with a Howard Weinstein leer
Bit coin billionaire,
you got sticky floor hands
and semen oil slick hair
Spreading your cyber surfing
triple X flotsam everywhere
You’re just a devilish voyeur,
a nickel-and-dime fleshpot billionaire
Your trashy ways smells like
a STD flea-bitten garbage can
And your infectious craves are a
CDC health hazard quarantine
Bit coin billionaire,
you’re a dirty money man
with semen snake oily hands
Bit coin billionaire,
with filthy green scaly skin
In need of some brimstone lotion
Bit coin billionaire,
you’re a dirty money man
with sticky floor hands
Bit coin billionaire,
with filthy lucre ashy skin
In need of a brimstone suntan
This poem was inspired by the
talented Richard Lamoureux’s poem,
“Church Perfect Surface.”
— Romantic Warrior
A nickel and dime
Had lost their shine
When they slipped into the old couch in the parlor
Their paths have been crossed
When they both had got lost
When they were exchanged from change of a dollar
The dime and the nickel
Still both in a pickle
But they know they'll be found in due time
But until they do
They'll stick together like glue
Until they get found and cleaned from their grime
Nursery Rhyme Poetry Contest 3
Sponsor: Eve Roper
3/23/2021
My soul started yearning
And my feet grew all restless
To see the old hometown
And the place I was born.
Out back of my old house
Sweet nature was waiting,
The woods of my youth
Were calling me home.
I drove all that night
And half the next morning
I pulled up to our place
Where strangers now lived.
Things looked pretty good
Till I checked out the backyard
And rows of new houses
Where the woods used to live.
I asked an old neighbor
Now gray and decrepit,
Where is the oak forest
Where we all used to play?
He said it's all gone now
Except for the memories,
A big old bulldozer
Has scraped them away.
They put up these houses
On top of each other
And squeezed the old woods
For each nickel and dime.
The trees are all gone now
Except for the memories,
A big old bulldozer
Has scraped them away.
I got back in my car
And headed for Bristol,
Didn't stop driving
For a night and a day.
I gazed at the trees
That stood on my woodlot
And swore no damn dozer
Would scrape them away.
Springtime easing into summertime
Euphoric she was in her prime
She had mountains to climb
Dreams of a lifetime
Magnificent and sublime
T’was when she ran into a mime
In the midst of his pantomime
Trying to make a nickel and dime
This distraction turned out to be a crime
Just some icky slime and grime
In the meantime losing track of time
So much to do before bedtime
To take advantage of clement clime
Better moving overdrive into overtime
Before daytime turned to nighttime
T’was then she heard the chime
While she was still in her prime
Still had those mountains to climb
And all those dreams of a lifetime
Magnificent and sublime
AP: 3rd place 2020
Xmas is here tonight
At midnight, what a night!
Let's write a bad poem about Christmas
Before the Midnight Mass
As we offer our best wishes to all on the planet
This is it
Santa Claus is sliding in the chimney
Hurray, hurray!
Papa Noël is coming to town to bring gifts
Garlic, olive oil and onion
To everyone
Stop all types of cheats.
Long live Papa Noël
Who hates to dwell
On negative things
Santa Claus stutters and sings
All the time
And he will never nickel and dime
The poor, the crazy and the pelicans
Except the poor Republicans.
Long Live Santa Claus
Regardless
Of our mess
He has been fair to all of us.
If you like this poem
Please wish your friends and neighbors
A very Merry Christmas and many Happy New Years
To come
Oh! Ho
Ho, Ho!
This is a gaffe
For Baby Jesus: laugh and laugh.
Copyright © December 2014, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
On this morning Thomas awoke
Ready to take on a forecast predicting he would get soaked
Still doubting thinking meteorology was a joke
Headed outside
Winds blowing no lie
Running back under covers
Twenty four hours washed out waiting for another
Throughout the rainy day
Wondering if everything was okay
“I have nothing to say”
Doubting Thomas peeked out to skies angry and grey
But for a second a glimmer of sun
Storm must be done
Opened the door
And there was good old Danny on his stage floor
“We are in the eye
Bad weather has not said good bye
Could you spare a nickel and dime?
For the information I told you on my mind”
Securing all his shutters
Doubting Thomas prayed to the Holy Mother
Hoping this will end
Leaving the destructive mess to mend
Bed is the place to be
Tomorrow work to pick up the debris
Due to Dan
Monitoring his five and dime climate stand
Doubting Thomas was not in a life threatening jam
Only to hear the message ‘stay at home’
‘All alone’
‘Sit by the phone’
‘For the call
That is all’
This was an honest warning
Informing
Reporting that water is pouring
Instead of ignoring
About this time that was not boring
Since Thomas must
Prepare to fix damage from the element’s fuss
Without any cuss
Replacing it with community trust
It is a lesson in concern
Knowledge stand firm
For others not to get burned
Getting caught in a situation
Where they are facing
Natural trouble
Distant from their corporate bubble
In the Bank or Under the Mattress
By Elton Camp
Decades ago, it was hidden at home folks kept their dough
But they had to be concerned that it might be stolen, though
Nowadays, most of us deposit our funds into some bank
But it’s still subject to thieves who are more vile and rank
Bankers, unlike robbers, won’t take your money all at one time
But through multiple fees they drain it away, nickel and dime
We pay the banks monthly for having the free use of our cash
Then are charged check writing fees to make our teeth gnash
The banks’ own debit cards they urge that we should use
Then establish various fees, just whatever they may choose
Even if we don’t put money in or take a single dime out
Then we will learn what an “Inactivity Fee” is all about
At some, if to an actual human teller you want to speak
Then a special fee of doing that they will proceed to seek
On our savings, the interest the bank pays is miniscule
Less than one percent at most is the established rule
I’ve been thinking about all of this abuse pretty hard
I’m about to decide to bury my money in the back yard