Long Entrepreneurs Poems
Long Entrepreneurs Poems. Below are the most popular long Entrepreneurs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Entrepreneurs poems by poem length and keyword.
I am not surprised at what I see.
The outside tables at the café are empty.
Despite its reputation of being the best in the city.
To entrepreneurs, it does not look pretty.
You probably think the place does lousy business.
The winter is having a lot to do with this.
For a southern city, it is unusually cold.
The temperature affects both the young and old.
To sit outside, not many are very bold.
Sitting outside today would not be nice;
especially when the drinks have a lot of ice.
Inside is where we both have to go.
Would you like coffee, a latte, or cappuccino?
On the menu, you see selections are a lot.
Today, it is a good idea to drink something hot.
Robert Pettit
Café Musings Contest
February 4, 2014
On a mission to find and crucify this character
This savior, your white Jesus
Crusades tease my anger
Especially if the picture they paint
Is of someone it truly ain’t
Searching for my savior, your saint
Jealous that photo doesn’t please us
On a mission to find and crucify
This image portrayed as white Jesus
Whether it’s good times or dark trials
I bow my head and pray to this image of arched smiles
To this cross I was too, like you and you, dedicated
So many times I summoned your blessings yet you hesitated
The preacher always said
Only one hovers above my head
Snap shots of my flesh, never knew peace in this casket
Satan, my commonly know bastard
As an outcast, a lonely loser, I’m orientated
As a carefree orphan/foster child, I was educated
Forehead being massaged in olive oil
Faith suddenly falling after these morals
In this church as one they pray
A sinner’s kiss, when it hurts, we fail to ask for another day
Entrepreneurs, now we outcast is crooked, but major
Writers imprint with real names of plagiary
As government seeds we’re slayed together
As enemies and old friends
We schemed and played in weather
Scenes from my grave
Kissing toes, means goodbye, to them heavenly gates I wave
If I’mma make it to hell
No further questions, only tears stop me from being cremated
Fire and tropical storms, everything the sea hated
Walk these oceans to calm these skies
He who looks from above teases my lies
Only as a mortal, matter seizes the eye
In today's world, where the old citadels of disciplines have melted like mist at dawn,
We now live in modern sanctuaries where the sky is pierced by towers of glass,
A society of fitness temples, skyscrapers that touch the sky with steel fingers,
Banks pulsing like urban hearts and genetic labs weaving the future from genes.
The twenty-first century is no longer a world of disciplines but a realm of achievements,
Where the inhabitants are no longer obedient subjects but architects of their own destinies,
Pushing themselves to be entrepreneurs of the self, sculpting their existence from the clay of time,
For discipline has given way to the will to excel, and obedience, to the desire to shine.
In the flow of consciousness, I lose myself among images of towers embracing the sky with shadows,
Where every soul becomes an artist of their own existence, seeking perfection in reflections,
A waltz of ambitions and dreams intertwining in rhythms of continuous and relentless progress,
A world where every step is a step towards new heights, a journey to personal infinities.
My thoughts wander through corridors of glass and steel, in search of hidden meaning,
Between the desire to understand and the constant need to create, balancing dream with reality,
In a universe where everyone is a pioneer on their own path, an explorer of the deep self,
An endless story of humanity being rewritten with every dawn of a new eternal beginning.
Clans, Ilks and Tartans
Woven into threads of red and black,
Girded by grids of white,
Distant plaintive bagpipe memories
Of sunset over Kilmaurs –
A crest that bears a unicorn
Touches royal roots
As a poet’s tribute to a patron lost
Watches neighbors Campbell and Montgomerie
Then looks out on the seas from tidal lands
Of Ayrshire in flings and reels with swirling kilts
When explorer’s feet recall on new world shores
The mew of seagulls soaring –
Politicians, engineers and entrepreneurs -
Over Fork Over – Cunningham, a clan of auld.
Blocks of green and wine
Stripped with blue
Look back into the heather
Covering highland hills of country dances
Where spring wanders in hunting kilts
Beneath clear cerulean heavens,
Boldly enduring;
A crest that bears a coronet
Of storied noble and knight
Whose melancholy legend
Whispers in glens and gloaming
Of standard bearers for a king
Watched by Ogilvy and Stewart
Lindsay, a clan of auld.
Like sunlight bouncing off of autumn leaves
In crimson, golden amber, umber greening hues -
A sword dance of squares and lines in twirling kilts -
Near the sparkling waters of Loch Lomond;
Clan neighbor Graham and cousins MacCammon
See the crest adorned by a coronet
Prize of battle;
The wind remembers
Tiny windswept island Clarinch -
A battle cry of Clar Innes -
Campaigns of kings and exiled queens –
Chieftain’s seat sees a president and prospector -
Hence the brighter honor – Buchanan, a clan of auld.
Cousins of the same ilk
Bear the names of families -
Of highland lands
And lowland memories -
Seaside and mountain territories -
Kilts wearing colors interwoven patterns
Born of clans with
Tartans telling legends and the stone of destiny,
Plaids dancing at the piper’s hand,
Ancient names, though maybe hidden, still live –
Cunnyngham, Lindsey and MacCammon
Of Buchanan –
In Celtic refrains like iridescent whispers
Woven through clans of auld.
This is the story of my Scottish heritage through the mottos, the tartans, the history and geographic references to the clan homes.
Carnival without merit, affinity, and association
Brash, bellowing band bleeting notes in oscillation
Circus creatures cavorting about with every unseemly provision
Cascading, carnival chorus clanging through every subdivision
Haughty, kilted henchmen trotting in front of the procession
Decadently-dressed damsels fawning at mock adulation
Coarsely-clad clowns tromping along in derision
Freaky, festooned floats fluttering through every alley and intersection
Ghastly garlands strewn about with every drunken petition
Teaming, throbbing townspeople on marauding mission
Corrupt Councilors culled and paraded about in degradation
Frugal, free-loading foragers scraping up every token donation
Vacuous, votive vendors profitting from their abnegation
Ebullient, enterprising entrepreneurs scalping without aversion
Exuding purity, while honour bestowing
“Sampaguita” I am, my country’s national flower
Jasminum sambac --- such is my scientific name
beautifully functional with my fragrance
oozing through a branded perfume.
With my God-endowed economic potential
I’m sought to provide livelihood opportunities
since leis and garlands produced out of my being
help build-up entrepreneurs in our community
as well as growers, showing resilience and patience.
Modesty aside, I’m an inspiration to many artists:
poets exalt my sublime scent and accolade-granting petals
sculptors have me accentuated, like in my ceremonial torch feature
singers express serenade-lyrics, comparing me to a virgin
painters exhibit my adornment impact.
Symbolizing graceful simplicity and sacredness
my optimization is offered to the Almighty
Who blesses fully my sweet existence beyond survival bliss
as I yield to Him my all, while worshipping Him
with my biblical fellow flowers, rose of Sharon, and lily of the valleys.*
*Song of Solomon 2:1 I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys.
February 2, 2021
Chosen image: "If I were a flower..."
1st place, "If I Were A (Flower)? Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mystic Rose Rose; judged on 2/4/2021.
Jingle jangle, jingle jangle, jingle all the way!
Merchants gleefully fill their tills sellin' stuff for Christmas Day!
I can barely hear the joyful Yuletide carols that I hold so dear,
For the ka-ching, ka-ching of lucre that keeps ringin' in my ear!
My spouse scurries about spendin' like it is goin' out of style!
I wonder how I'm to pay for all this stuff, grouchin' all the while!
Like dear old Scrooge, I ain't in the mood for celebration.
Even Santa is grumpy and frowns on all this commercialization!
Jingle jangle, jingle jangle, jingle all the way!
Oh what fun it is to wave goodbye to Santa and his sleigh,
And the lights and tinsel and gee gaws and other such lures,
That help feed the greed of those bodacious entrepreneurs!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 3 in Carolyn Devonshire's "Commercialization Holiday Humor" Contest
November 2010
I went to the Dragons to try and make a deal.
I didn't consider, how scared I would feel.
On the tables beside them, were piles of cash.
I became so nervous, I broke out in a rash.
Tongue tied I fumble, my ideas unclear.
How in the world, did I ever end up here.
Jim from Boston Pizza, a former RCMP
Said if he had his cuffs, he would arrest me
Then Mr Wonderful, not such a friendly guy
Said my idea was so bad, it made him want to cry
Arlene was a little nicer, yet still said that she was out
My confidence was shot, I felt like such a lout
Robert Herjavic said " don't quit your day job".
I could take no more, I started to sob!
If you have an idea, be sure you prepare
As for me happy, to get away from there
Dragons Den is a Canadian show where entrepreneurs
present ideas to Millionaires in hopes they will invest
in their business or idea. This is thankfully not a real
life experience.
The middle class here can't be saved
When 0.001% act so depraved
Their wealth without end
These royals* still pretend
Did not come from us—their
enslaved**
*The Royals: CEOs, Banksters, Revolving Door Regulators, The FED, Congressmen for sale, Lobbyists, Board Members of Big Corporations, Major Shareholders who vote for these Board
Members, Corrupt Managers, Dishonest Used Car Salesmen, Presidential Candidates with more than two Residences, Elected Presidents (and their lackeys who pretend to regulate but look the other way)
**The Enslaved: Workers, Career Regulators who are trying to protect the public, Honest Hard Working Citizens, Students--some with oppressive loans, Immigrants, Soldiers, Police, Firemen and Firewomen, Parents, Children, Orphans, Disabled, The Sick, Small Business Owners (who don’t hire lobbyists), Volunteers, Health Care Workers, Welfare Recipients, Inventors, Investors, Entrepreneurs, Actors, Artists, Journalists who do in-depth investigation (not like those with FOX News, ABC Radio or many other of the outlets where they mouth the status quo), Non Profit Corporations, Charities, Teachers, Transportation Workers, Waiters and Waitresses, Dishwashers, Servants, Farmers, Managers, Ship Hands, Cooks, Unemployed
Author' s Note: Have been at Occupy Wall Street 8 days in the past two months--which is why I haven't been here--plus I have to work. Miss you all, but it's for a good cause. I am very briefly seen on Conan's feature: Triumph the Insult Comic Dog at Occupy Wall Street if you are looking for some humor with a little umph.
The spirit of love was flowing in the air but all of a sudden it disappeared when the birds sitting on the fence spread filth on the cars parked in the garage. They say that it’s a symbol of luck for those that believe in miracle spewing out of the environment gut.
The wind is blowing and it is carrying a nasty stench within; the wind is blowing and the farm animals are murmuring. The donkeys are carrying a heavy load, they are climbing up the mountain with their backs laden with gold, the markets are not gold friendly and so they have to convert it to pound, shilling and pence in a hurry.
When the prices are right you, can get a gold ring for the price of a diamond and a ruby. Those boxes on the donkey’s back are worth twenty billion, the price of two houses, a shoe, a new frock and a cake with mixed icing on top.
A stench is moving around in the air and it is boiling with the spirit of fear, it not the stench you want smell when you are stuck in the lion’s den. You have got to formulate a better plan to get the cubs off the land; some people can be ambassadors, construction workers business entrepreneurs and dress makers.
Others can be carpenters, news reporters; naysayer and deal breakers can take on an assignment in different parts of the world and make their spirit bold. You can get them out of the lion’s den with money, ink, paper and a chartered air plane before the end of December.
The writer’s and the cinematography, news presenters, directors, producers, actors and the cameramen have much in common and can explore the universe and find new meaning with different verse.
The garbage is sitting on the street side and the flies are gathering around, circulating a deplorable stench throughput the town.
It is Wednesday for heaven's sake; the meeting is on so don’t be late. Get your notes together, for the members are already inside, the tiger is sitting at the front you have much in common so give a subtle smile to break the ice, the bear must be feared they will dilute the stench in the open air.
There is an awful stench in the air and it is coming from the cesspool.