Long Gold digger Poems
Long Gold digger Poems. Below are the most popular long Gold digger by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gold digger poems by poem length and keyword.
There comes the EAST, against the SOUTH
The WEST against the SOUTH
Again the NORTH, all against the SOUTH
Just to use, manipulate and enslave
our minds, One said music is all
I say
The growth of a country
Depends on the knowledge Of the youths
But money makes everything worthwhile
Them songs; Bursting Up the speakers
The knowledge birthed, connections for elevation
My money bossing up, Mi world
They call me
A LAZY GOLD DIGGER NO i am
A POET, I was a once a hustler
Here comes another, they said...
Laughter is everything, It keeps you entertained
I said; Laughter without, happiness and contentment
From within is Forgery, For social connection
Money makes it enduring and complete
Them jokes and movies, all over the NATION
With Global recognition
My people Living La vida loca (the crazy life)
La Bella vida (The beautiful life)
Amidst all hate and denials, they labelled us SCAMMERS
No we are messengers of Love, Oneness was our message.
da vida (life-giving) vida Feliz (happy life)
There came
The other, boosting of their. strengths and powers
I told them
It's not by power, neither myth but
Consistency without resistance
Money makes whole, It adds honor
We all will die one day, but not certain
Now they got
The military With armed forces, ARMY
Forcing, forging lies and flogging us to
Move their ways, my people
Still showing love, amidst the tortures
They call us vultures with cultures
No we are healers and seers
Which they keep seeking, Unknowingly
Silence and discernment was Our weapons
Their perception of us, Was a reflection of them.
All them wishes On us was to be their
Sheep for slaughter
Copycat to navigate the negative poles
Propelling the heroes, Within
The Sleeping LIONS, they awakened
Now My people roar for;
Absolute freedom, greatness comes from it
We SOUTHERNERS also deserve power
We want to own our resources
And Our Fundamental Human Rights
JUSTICE and FREEDOM IS THE SOUND
AS WE ROAR FOR GREATNESS!!
(Written in 1970 when I was a junior in high school)
Kyle’s only three and quite the tyke
And he wants to ride a two wheel bike
But his mom and dad say he’s too small
And they’re afraid that he might fall
Now on his cheek a tear-track’s stain
He’s suffering from growing pains
Jill’s just thirteen and she can’t wait
‘Til she goes out on her first date
She finds it hard to bite her tongue
When her parents say she’s still too young
She feels this treatment is inhumane
She’s suffering from growing pains
At twenty-four Paul’s a broken man
He went to college with big plans
‘Til he gave in to that young girl’s charms
And she stuck a needle into his arm
Now his plans revolve around cocaine
He’s suffering from growing pains
She’s thirty-five and should have it all
Because Erin was always the belle of the ball
But four kids and a job have taken their toll
And now she is feeling far beyond old
She once was a beauty but now she’s just plain
She’s suffering from growing pains
He’s forty-one and Bill had success
But now his life is a real mess
He thought to be rich, but he hadn’t figured
That he’d end up married to a gold digger
He has everything to lose and nothing to gain
He’s suffering from growing pains
Just fifty-six and in Jean’s once sharp mind
Her thoughts and dreams are so intertwined
That she doesn’t know which ones are real
Or what emotions she should feel
The doctor’s say she’s quite insane
She’s suffering from growing pains
Sixty years have now come and gone
And Bob sits staring at his lawn
He once took great care to keep it neat
Now it hurts too much to be on his feet
And he tries so hard to not complain
He’s suffering from growing pains
She’s seventy-one and Laura finds
Herself alone again in time
She’s lost her husband of some fifty years
And now she has nothing but her tears
She feels her heart has split in twain
She’s suffering from growing pains
At eighty-seven, Ed looks out
His window and wonders what life’s all about
Everyone he knew is gone
And he dreads facing another dawn
Now the organ plays a sad refrain
He’s suffered life’s final growing pain
What special touches - the eyes, the mouth, his hands.
The brushes illuminate the solid ground - his walk.
Invisible beings painted in, sentries stand by, awaiting
his slightest command. The diablos stands by too,
mocking each mark of Jesus’ path, for he holds on tight
to the wretched and weak beings, the easily tempted,
the hungry beggars, the lame, suffering and sick.
The scorch of Christ’s touch, as he heals Adams and Eves,
the liar does not like this, not one little bit. The release
of light into their eyes, the clearing of their consciences,
bitterness fleeing, wounds sealed up as if they never existed.
The howling of a wanderer in this cursed earth. He recalls
those gentle eyes, those wise words, the beauty of the garden.
The horn’d reject can only wind around weeds, thorns, hollowed
branches - something that would make mankind’s skin crawl.
Christ’s see-through hands, reach out and touch, lepers
and lowly woman bereft of freedom. When his mouth moves
the inner universe of each soul either erupts or folds.
The son’s magnificent eyes made of gold, shine as the Father of lights.
Holy Spirit comfort radiates the passion of warmth and O
when he weeps, the impression of Rembrandt’s plates sear.
Multitudes of destitute and growling tummies follow his beat.
When he speaks of eating his flesh and drinking his blood
the murmuring crowd, much like the Israelites in the desert,
turn their backs, with no understanding of the Mannah’s lips.
The dozen choose him. Who else shall we go to. We know you.
Although one is a plant, a weed himself. Should we feel sorry
for the gold digger? He oft shakes the communal bag, opens
and sifts it like sand, retrieving a couple grains. If he only knew
the cost. O the cost! Did he steal the tithe? The ten percent
would be like quicksand. The devil would leave him hanging.
What special touches - the eyes, the mouth, his hands.
The brushes illuminate the solid ground - his walk.
Christ’s frame humble and confident, his mission to save.
2/1/2021
Ladies say he's just lazy; he needs to get a job,
fellas say she's too crazy; she’ll scream then she’ll sob.
He’s a man who's a man-hoe; messing around with all these girls,
she's a flat out gold digger; simply in it for the pearls.
Ladies complain he's insensitive; he needs to learn to care,
fellas moan about her attitude; face her wrath if you dare.
A bunch of baby momma drama, is that you will get from him,
kids running around like a nursery, is that you'll find when she lets you in.
She say's he doesn't make her feel special, and is contemplating the breakup,
he replies that she's full of herself; looking like a clown with all that make-up.
He lacks the ambition to ever do something with his life,
she's just plain heartless to ever be considered as a wife.
He keeps looking at her friends; acting like he's going to make a move,
she's already had his brother, so there's nothing left for her to prove.
Girls say he's single minded; he's only after one thing,
boys say she's a lead along; they call her pretty string.
They never have a shape up; always looking rough with their nappy hairs,
they always have a weave on; bet they ain't even sure what hair is theirs.
Women say they hold their nose; he doesn't know basic hygiene,
men say they're appalled; looking at the love handles pouring out of them jeans.
He's merely a grown boy, who doesn't know a thing about chivalry,
she acts like a brat, always expecting him to the give out his currency.
She can't believe he's a momma's boy; 25 still living at the home,
he's shocked by her expenditure; caught buying shoes with her loan.
These are not the facts but the stereotypes,
when women are considered cold, and men are painted in prison stripes.
Pr!ck vs B!tch
For more poetry goodness visit www.checkmyflow.co.uk
When you don’t have money, there is the kind of wife you marry
You marry her for she is marriageable in a hurry
That way, you save yourself time and money
And cross your fingers that life with her will be sunny
She does not stand out; she may not be so pretty
She is not so educated, and neither is she that witty
But since you are not rich, you are unqualified to judge
Just kiss her every night, even if you don’t feel the urge
She may not be the one in your dreams, the one you imagined
But she is right there with you, while the other one is in the wind
You will always look at and desire other women, for men are hunters
But she cooks, cleans and sleeps besides you, and that’s all that matters
You don’t love her or hate her, you just don’t know how you feel about her
You want to spend as little time with her and the rest of the time at the bar
But she won’t be the ideal wife no matter how much you drink
You are searching for happiness, but you know she is not the link
If you had been rich, you would have married someone else instead
But she is the one here now, and she is still a woman God made
The other one was looking for a man who had already made it
But this one kind of likes you even if you have no credit
With time, the little love you had for her seems to grow
While the gold digger has been digging and is now down low
The man who had made it has no more gold, so the gold digger must go
While the wife you married turns to gold and now you know
When you don’t have money, be glad for the kind of wife you marry
Don’t marry her just because she is marriageable in a hurry
Marry her for she is giving you her time and time is money
The heart is hidden gold; it takes time to polish it to make life sunny
When you sit back and look at your life
What can you see, Whats pops up in your mind
Is it the people thats been nice and kind
or the darkness creeping up from behind
No matter who you are, theres always two sides of life
And that cant change no matter how hard you try
You try to right your wrongs, But its like tryna swim with both your hands tied
You drowning in all these pitiful lies
Throwing your hands tryna grasp the skies
You try to fight and fight but nothings makin it right
Show yourself that you changed your ways
Stop callin all the people you hate gay
Dont kick around the homeless like some stray
Karmas a *****, A ***** that'll make you pay
There is no right or wrong way
just the game of life and you gotta do as it says
You cant kick back and say your lifes been all straight,
Just cuz you got a job and food on your plate
Or cuz you go out on the streets and Just skate all day
You have a chance to change what karma will take
Its easy and free, like Trumps gold digger ***** on a date
Show yourself when others aint around
that your different and not tryna show off y'alls crown
Wanting all to know your the goody goody of the town
Cuz when you do, all you looking like is some doopy ass clown
Karma's not a racist, or sexist.. no cop so stop
Just cuz you gay or colored dont mean you cant be on top
Let your ambitious smiles be lifes cash crop
And you may ball hard but dont go lettin yourself flop
Instead commit
Show karma this shits legit
you thinkin it cant fit
But thats just your thoughts, Y'all can make it
Dont dig yourself a deeper pit
Instead... Pull yourself out that ****....
Thats my thoughts,
Just a tip....
She appeared like a shadow in silk,
On 57th Street,
Where men lose themselves
Trying to impress ghosts.
Victoria — that was her name.
She smiled not with warmth,
But with calculation.
And I, foolish in my hunger for love,
Mistook her gaze for fate.
She asked if the Rolls-Royce was mine.
I told her it belonged to my boss.
She changed.
The voice that once danced now became dust.
“I’ll call you later,” she said.
But the silence that followed was louder than any goodbye.
She vanished into velvet clubs and champagne whispers,
Fell for a man named Cat —
A rising sun of flashing gold and fleeting power.
He wore his wealth on his skin
Like armor.
She followed.
She worshipped.
But when the roses wilted
And betrayal knocked,
He shot her —
Five times in her legs.
The very legs she used to chase fortune.
Her name filled the papers,
Not with love stories,
But with warnings.
Victoria the Gold Digger,
They called her.
She died on 15 October 2024,
Alone, unnamed by those who once bought her smiles.
She died not because she loved riches,
But because she forgot love.
Real love.
And I?
I was not just a driver.
I was the man who could’ve given her the world.
But she only saw the key,
Not the kingdom.
Now her story is a requiem,
A silent scream echoing in the hearts of broken men.
Not all that glitters is love.
Some glitter is grief waiting to happen.
To the men—
Measure love not by the sparkle in her eyes,
But by the silence when you have nothing.
To the women—
Gold can buy a dress,
But never a legacy.
It comes in beta waves,
an electro-magnetic tone
The blu-ray timbre
channel surf creep
in your sleep
Then it’s rapid eye movement gone
This disembodied voice
whispers robo-call suggestively,
“Vote for American czar me”
Saying, cast your ballot
for the hand that turns the screw
Will govern by absentee headspace,
be a virtual
proxy voice for the oligarch few
Reverberated words of coin authoritarian oscillation
soundbyte feed discontent
Promising to Twitter lead,
mint breath blindly,
by jingle radar sense: Foment ability of echolocation
The drifting voice,
grifting in the poll ether,
uses dead president divination
to ruble follow the money
It’s silver tongue got Midas finger talent,
oh so gold digger uncanny
This disembodied Klux voice
utters in dark tone, Klu bigotry:
“Vote cult figuratively
for wannabe dictator me!
I’ll put Democracy,
in a freedom of speech deprivation sleep
Let my electoral lullaby mood of choice
allow the bane of tyranny
to give you a text disenfranchised voice”
The vexatious tone of the disembodied drone
urges every rebel diehard
to ballot gray matter play their trump card
Tho’ most bellow vociferously
To take a chance,
and gamble on chaos longevity
By selecting the Joker
chortling insane asylum policies
You can hear the disembodied voice
in your waking dreams —
Floating lunatic fringe
Ideas
that’ll make you cringe
90 down the expressway and I’m handling this stick
I am the true definition of a ride or die chick
Changing lanes, swerving in and out of traffic
Head in your lap, and I’m working my magic
Doing things to you that you’ll never forget
I thought I told you from the start that I’m an exhibitionist
You can take me anywhere, I don’t care who sees
Say you want it now and I will fall to my knees
I don’t care who’s watching, I hope they enjoy the show
Mind blowing sex like this, they will never know
The original Mrs. Nasty, Janet stole that name
I enjoy it nice and slow, but I thrive off the pain
Take a hit of me, and I’ll control your mind
Believe me when I tell you, I am one of a kind
I don’t want your money; keep your diamonds and pearls
Not a gold digger, a money sniffer, I’m not a material girl
I just need a Mandingo warrior who can rock my world
I am not the quiet type. I’ll loudly scream and shout.
I dont want to make love, just tryin' to get my back blown out
I don’t want to be your baby’s momma; you can keep the baby carriage
I’m not trying to lock you down; I don’t want your hand in marriage
This is just a booty call, a sexual relationship
Please don’t get too clingy, I don’t want your commitment
I might call you Papi, when I need a helping hand
Or I may not call you at all. This was just a one night stand
Well, now that I am registered officially,
into the ranks of those who search and dig,
for gold, and paper that's done and serialized,
or plastic that buys the pleasures on high,
I might as well sit down and think hard,
about all that I will buy with gold and paper,
serialized and plastic that shines,
First a bouquet for mama to say 'thank you'.
and wish her sunshine and rainbows too,
and not sun to scorch her chocolate skin,
but rainbows to herald goodwill and peace.
Then I might try to buy a voice, as loud as,
can be to join all the others that sound,
and call for what a child needs to grow and sing,
the time to play, learn and be loved, more time.
Most of all, I'll ask not to buy this one, it is priceless,
true friends to love now, forever and always, eternally
not perfect because I am far from the best,
but whose love, like mine, does not need justification.
So you see, what I want needs just a penny to buy,
and what I need wants no money to purchase,
so why the hassle to wear a veil and deceit,
to go down the vents, with spade and pans.
And now I will pay the price it will take
to be unregistered officially from the ranks,
of those who dig and search, for gold and paper,
maybe plastic that shines and buys,
and if you want and care, here I offer,
my friendship with no charge, no price tag.