Best Tycoons Poems
Peering down from a window seat,
she closed her eyes and she sensed the heat,
the plane made its final approach,
and she didn’t mind flying coach,
the land meets the ocean on the east,
and it was emerald green,
that could be seen
from her window,
perfectly manicured hedges and lawns,
graceful coconut palms,
and backyards dotted with pools,
tennis courts and yard tools,
to an outsider it would seem,
that Palm Beach was like a dream,
glamourous in every way,
larger than life, so they say,
beautiful and mysterious like a good book,
worth every moment shared,
worth every look,
highway filled with fancy cars,
host to kings, tycoons and movie stars,
and now a little girl,
heading to a fantasy world.
Ah, sweet slumber of nip-laden dreams;
the milk of mother moon bestowed,
a blessed drink and lactose-free
to this mine humble, feline throat.
Running freely through outer space,
I touch upon thy blessed universe.
My home of emerald and lapis lace,
is where in I lay in furred repose.
Chasing neon rainbows in nebulae bright,
my dreams are filled with gold doubloons.
I’ll spend them on treats and nip-delight,
and chase away any greedy tycoons.
A feline black as obsidian night,
in a home filled with human love;
among the faeries and tree sprites,
mind flies just like the doves.
Everybody bears a price tag
Claim tycoons with bottomless purses
With a plethora of dollars to flash and flag
About to entice simpletons who deem their lives struck by curses
Inserted in their DNA
Generations ago
Which render them incapable to shove away
Bets of cash their stricken spines can’t forgo
While stomachs groan and lips
Demand smartphones, mascaras and lipsticks
Deployed to slay chaps with wanton whips
That cut and slice with savage kicks
On pates gone wan with insomnia
As limousine driven juggernauts
Splurge huge wads of notes to catalyze mass hysteria
Among street corner astronauts
Whose flight to Cupid exoplanet
Fell on its face
As moral worth net
They chose to suppress
In the face of perennial penury
That nibbles homesteads bereft of meals
In January
When cash overloaded sovereigns strike asymmetric deals
In which they beat down the cashless
Unless the poor rebuff cash offers
Preferring the famine and thirst the voiceless
Endure twenty four seven cos their coffers
Cash they’ve never seen
Cos fate shifted the balance of resources in favour of the few
Who more often than not turn out mean
To taunt the poor who shift on a church pew
As a tycoon blurts, ‘There’s a price tag on you
The sooner you acknowledge the reality
The better your world will enliven anew
As on you my bucks bestow and restore dignity in humility.’
They weave, they weave
They weep and they weave
Smarting under the persecuting whips -
Verbal, literal or carnal whips
They weep, they weep.
Locust-like they swarm the streets
To reach the factories before the sun settles well
In its diurnal rounds.
There are no circumstances unavoidable
Reach they must the gates at the hour final….
Sartorial gladiators they are
Salary they draw but in the
Etymological sense- they are well off
Enough to buy salt.
Eagle-eyed lustful look
Do the ups and downs of their physique hook -
Surveying the geography of their constitution
And the lecherous bosses or carnally starving colleagues
Devotedly concentrate on each continent
And ready to pay compliment
Only if they are crowned with the sovereignty to discuss
Issues that make the gynecologists blush!
Penelopes of the modern times,
Your hands transform loan-sharks
Into pot-bellied, globe-trotting tycoons.
These textile Sheikhs
When their family or female(s) sneeze
Millions and millions they unsqueeze
As if they are sylvestral leaves
Falling beauteously in the vernal breeze!
But alas! These helicoptered and villaed
Villains, as if through the alchemy of a vile wand
Into penniless paupers transformed
When the Midas-hands entreat them
To get exchange for their tears and sweat.
All big talks, fountains of philanthropy run dry -
And they weave and cry
They weave and cry!
Cry no more, Penelope, weave no more,
Never will your Odysseus come
Cease weaving, cease embroidering.
Yet the dream-laden Penelopes
Weep and weave,
They weep and they weave!
They weep and they weave!!
To tell or not to tell
that is the question.
If it is better
to take up arms
against tycoons
siphoning blood
from pension funds
or to endure
the wrath of numbers
set on arguing:
To thyself be true
two and two is four
without added
000,000,000,000
Santa Claus bonuses!
Ignoramus adding fives
subtracting nines
to cover up crimes.
Shredding numbers
into the trash
hiding cash,
Pulling number
out of the hat.
Three and three is nine?
Poor numbers
bare to the bones
as unequivocal in truth
as in lying
unlimited by culture
undiminished by time
universal and immortal
can’t be minced
sweetened or doubled
to camouflage a lie.
Ah, if words were like numbers!
Would I be a writer?
First Place Winner in Oliver Mckeithan Contest: The Bard's Birthday-4/28/25
Who can deny the carnival thrill
Spilling through Great White American hope
To be pleased and teased
Like every adventurous American girl
Unheld by tradition's claim
Paving new paths
On feminist wave
Women in power that flower like tycoons
With nothing to prove
A back flipping coconut is very very amusing at a ball but ball pits are moving around so one must surely wear wellingtons or a pair of anglers' waders when jumping across such multicoloured curves. Harp no more sang to a lute at a castle. For harp was too busy restringing and replacing for often strands should be sitting in a neat formation so never whirl around whilst sewing, knitting or braiding a horse's tail. Especially not in a typhoon for a typhoon is often a tycoon and tycoons are really toucans in very smart hats. Now audiences singing to nova scotia are often in great voice. But voicemail from a silky seagull is neither rushed, accented or delivered at the correct time. Drink no cup of mildewed coffee omitting from the horns of a bull. Horns of bull should only be shown on humpback whale variety shows. But not in showers of rain. Trains taking turns tinkling tantrums. And a wide variety of beaks, snouts, and hooves meet with many paws but not in a zoo or a circus for these places are now closed due to a booooom from a book. State no stench and stick no stink. It is the mass availability of a wire that moves the grid into a pineapple formation. Wow. Legs arms and torsos make fairytales in a large luxury room but the rhombic pentameter is waiting in the wings in the theatre to perform a dance. 656 eagles plus 800, 000, 000, bison arriving with a horse, a rhinoceros and a little pickled gherkin in a suit. Fascia fashions fantastic fake frogs. But a pill on a hill is not a pillow nor a pillowcase nor is it a ten thousand kilometre pillar. Rather great to watch the auras of apples spinning over the grass being chased by the caterpillars and huge crowd of pigs. Erogenous earwigs eating everything. Haha pile the plates and dance. Haha silicon tango opera. Hahaha left wing tight wing flap flap flap. Cluck. And a click in a clock is a clock tower chatting. Xxxxx institutionalism Z Z Z Z
TWENTY thousand years after the Lamb.
New nocturnal pulpits here and there,
While He said be united in His name.
Deliverance from misery and maladies,
We now preach. No more poor in spirit?
Abortion, woman-woman, nakedness…we now decree.
No more Sodom and Gomorrah?
FIRST class terror we do implant.
Big tycoons, big bombs; little Afro-Asians, no guns
Because peace is white and terror is black.
Friendly tyrants are free to reign.
You key your country inwards? Beware their bombs.
But they rescued Tripolians! Then, no road to Syria?
After all, wary-farms must be watered;
Terror flames must be fanned;
Otherwise, no business in weaponry.
CENTURY of doom! Faithless, heartless, hopeless Century!
Quake, clash, crash, wreck…here and there!
Coup, riot, strike, mutiny…here and there!
Hear Ozone crying! No yields from Denmark?
I hear AIDS’ troops harking victims to pieces.
Boom, boom, boom, boom…everywhere. Opium! Opium!
Opium in religious sacks! “Musa and John are One”, we must know.
Let’s all kneel before the Lamb
Because every second we are doomed!
Best punctuation of this century? Question mark?
(Published in CHAINING FREEDOM, 2012)
Sinister snarling swindling scandalous scoundrels secretly slither shamelessly
Implicitly interrogated ‘bout innermost insidious illegitimate impertinences
Ghastly Grotesque grimacing gumption gorging gruesome gimmicky gossip
Netherworld’s nauseating narcissistic nefarious nature nibbling at naiveté
Obnoxious oppressors outrageously ostracizing offspring to oblivion
Facetiously fondling flip flutter floundering their frayed frazzled foibles
Tyrannical temperamental tempestuous tumultuous targeting tallying triviality
Haphazardly harnessing halfhearted heinous hypocritical homicidal hatred
Exploiting embezzling extricating explicit evil entangled ephemeral effrontery
Tetrad of treacherous tyrannical tycoons tackle tantamount transfigurations
Implicit intermittently incoherent infernal insanity idling illicit insidious insolences
Malicious misanthropic madmen monstrously manipulating mangling mercilessly
Erroneous euphemisms explicitly eclipsing evolving estranged etiquette’s eulogy
Staggering systematic spiritual stagnation symbolizing society’s sign of the times
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on April 22, 2018 for contest SIGN OF THE TIMES sponsored by JOHN HAMILTON - RANKED 4TH
Guess I'll ne'er understand those loony loons
Shaking their fists at the Wall Street tycoons
The Tea Party did it right
They didn't leave filth and blight
'Occupiers' remind me of baboons
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Black, Shiny Shoes.
The EU dictatorship has crushed Hellas Germany and the banks won-
The French to their helped the Greeks writing a new tax system and
for once the tycoons have to pay tax as well and for the Hellenic
people they need not buy new shoes every fortnight, let the cobblers
mend your shoes. I remember a time when buying shoes was a major
investment, they were always black and bought on credit book.
You may call it thrift I will call it poverty when you are poor everything
cost more as the Greeks soon will soon notice. And in case you wonder
the money the loans go straight to the lenders banks and one wonder
who many times they have to pay for the airport in Athens a German
steel company built? The Greeks are hard working people, with bad elite,
the next one to will be Portugal, Italy too are feeling the clammy hand of
capitalism and then it will be France`s turn to taste rigour.
What about EU then?
Even the most powerful fall in the end
No matter the prestige they fall like all men
Tycoons with fortune
Lowly street urchins
No one is immune, time does not bend
This sudden warped concern for ampule,
the cruel force of world dictators,
these psychological taunt of the media,
Nescient chemists controlling our minds,
tycoons uttering lies in egoistic motives,
these pretentious drama of publicized jabs,
enhancing their personal ambition to rule,
these old prime ministers at the precipice,
unwilling to retire for greed,
frightened by the plague concocted in Wuhan,
confusing my will by their own fears.
conspirators accusing me of conspiracy,
invoking laws on their medium,
censoring opposing opinion,
These organized crimes against my will,
A cooked up opium rushed out of laboratory,
compelling a Police state devoid of volition,
mRNA coated codes, their Greek gift to save the world,
the same world they pass by in pain,
these tyrants suddenly more catholic than the Pope,
or civil than a civilian,
Liberty at the mercy of potentate,
silence all demanding,
The hysteria unending,
my trust for their kindness is zero.
Update of "A Litany in Time of Plague"
by Michael R. Burch
THE PLAGUE has come again
To darken lives of men
and women, girls and boys;
Death proves their bodies toys
Too frail to even cry.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!
Tycoons, what use is wealth?
You cannot buy good health!
Physicians cannot heal
Themselves, to Death must kneel.
Nuns’ prayers mount to the sky.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!
Beauty’s brightest flower?
Devoured in an hour.
Kings, Queens and Presidents
Are fearful residents
Of manors boarded high.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!
We have no means to save
Our children from the grave.
Though cure-alls line our shelves,
We cannot save ourselves.
"Come, come!" the sad bells cry.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!
They argued about the ruble, the kyat, the gold cordoba too
More conversation about lira, Swiss franc, and Moldova Leu.
Discussion soon turned to the rupee, new peso and Brazilian real,
Money talk ceased as they lined up for their evening meal.