Long Moneyed Poems
Long Moneyed Poems. Below are the most popular long Moneyed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Moneyed poems by poem length and keyword.
Banana trees
Most of the jungles of Sumatra are uprooted
to plant banana trees the orangutans have been made homeless.
They try to sit in the banana trees, but it is too brittle for the animals
besides, they don´t care for this type of fruit, which gives them the runs.
It reminds me of Lisbon the Portuguese are proud of.
Moneyed people are coming from abroad to settle in the city,
a wonderful place to live.
The poor cannot afford the high rent when flats are modernized
to suit newcomers.
The unfortunates are pushed out to find a shack, if they are lucky
or failing that, live in tents;
many tents, in parks and sideroads while waiting to be housed.
There are many pretty banana trees in Lisbon, but they are expensive.
It has always been like this, the poor and the uncommunicative
must take the brunt when a town goes upmarket.
The Muse
If I show her
the least attention
She blackens out
the prose
Her hold on me
so total
Forever
in the throes
Of what her
gift requires
And loyalty
demands
Where every night
she visits
My dreams
— at her command
***
Moments I Treasure
Embracing simplicity
days get short
Words cut deeper
vague meanings defined
Minutes leaving
moments to treasure
Twilight in focus
— forever unwinds
***
Uncertainty Cries
Time
the great impostor
Hides
in every doubt and scheme
Whispering lies
when uncertainty cries
Poisoning hope
— invading our dreams
***
Less Is More
Would you trade
your steak for salad
returning as before
Before the fame
betrayed you
before the moneyed tour
How spartan could you pivot
free
of fortune’s weight
That riches cast upon you
and left you
in this state
How much praise and false attention
would you happily
give up
To shed the gilded moments
and fill
each empty cup
But maybe all the better
to clasp your hands
in prayer
Beseeching what is missing
from The One
— who’s always there
***
Excuses Befriend
A thousand ways
to lose
only one way
to win
The track
lined with losers
excuses
befriend
What could have
then happened
what should
have come true
Lost forever
to history
defeat
— in review
(Montreal Grand Prix: May, 2026)
The alleyways within the maze are paved with rats and mice.
Evangelists with moneyed fists collect the sacrifice
from losers scorned and rubes reborn, and promise paradise,
while in the back they cook some crack, inhale, and roll the dice.
A bum called Boe has stubbed his toe, he’s stumbled in the gutter;
with broken neck, he looks a wreck, the sparrows all aflutter,
the passers-by, they close an eye, and turn their heads and mutter:
“Let’s pray for rains to wash the lanes, to clear away the clutter.”
A river slows neath mountain snows, and leaves begin to shudder.
Though rip-off shops and crooked cops are paid not once but thrice,
the painted girl with flaxen curl is paring down her price
and loosely tempts cold hands unkempt to touch the merchandise.
A crazy guy cries “where am I”, a schizo titters twice,
and double quick a lunatic affects a fight with lice.
The jungle teems, a siren screams, the air is filled with meth.
The Reverent Priest and nuns unleash the Holy Shibboleth.
And Righteous Jane who is insane, as well as Sister Beth,
while telling tales to no avail of everlasting death,
at least imbue Hagg Avenue with whisky on their breath.
The Reverent Priest combats the Beast, they’re kneeling down to prey,
to fight the truth with fang and tooth, to toil for yesterday,
to etch their mark within the dark, to paint their résumé
on shrouds and sheets which then completes the devil’s dossier.
Old dan, he's drunk and in a funk, all mired in the mud.
A Monk begins to wash Dan’s sins, and asks “How are you, Bud?”
“I’m feeling pain and crying rain till soon there is a flood.
And no god’s there who seems to care I’m always coughing blood.”
The Monk, he turns, Dan’s words he spurns and lets the bible thud.
Well, Banjo Boy, he will annoy with jangled rhymes that fray:
“The clanging bells of carousels lead blind men’s minds astray
to rings of gold they’ll never hold in fingers made of clay.
But crest and crown will crumble down, when withered roots decay.”
Continued
Dawn Forever Rising
It starts
Street lights fade
their tiny soft-winged tenants flee
checkerboard facades change
last night's illumined squares now dark
become but yesterday's portals
some polished
some weather streaked
all reaching to reflect first breath
Steam ascends from the city's vacuum
gratings rattle with subterranean yawning
people-movers wind their way
through mazes of starts
stops
Topside tracks
like fixed contrails
glisten with frost
not yet enjoined by speeding transit
their skeletal tributaries
readying the trickle of humanity
into a mass ocean of glass and steel survival
Uptown
Downtown
A street sweeper's tire rubber and swirling brushes
beneath the overalled believer in Lottos
holding firm the wheel and gears of faith
of trust
gathering gutter-lodged disposal
glass and plastic
paper and cardboard
spinning into the vortex
lifting yesterday's careless cast-offs
inviting today's Starbuck anew
reflections of another kind
Leashes strain from anxious sniffing
bladders hold
ready to burst
seeking just the right tree
the right hydrant
the "ah, yes" that only a canine can know
Rays of sun begin spilling down alleyways
the long-tail rodents scamper for cover
their bellies full
seeking safety after a long night of ancient ritual
food of anything
digestion of history
all in a night's work
Suddenly
Full light cascades down avenues and streets
itinerant pigeons and seagulls spread habitual wings
ready to adore the steadies
the loners
park walkers
window ledge dependables
homeless with dance cards of crumbs
envying the moneyed insomniacs throwing chunks
baguettes gone stale
fit for few
a feast for many
senses loving the coos and warbles
the bobbing thank you
the reciprocal bonding
few but the lonely can appreciate
Finally
The steel and glass imitation of nature
comes fully alive
a sun's illumination without reserve
energy's provision for another day
Rich mix with the poor
money exchanges hands
the hotdog vendor
the hedge fund taker
the cookie jar provider
Most become tomorrow's yesterday
knowing little of the other light
requiring no rising or setting
illumination that never grows dim
something as nothing
forever light
never of darkness
Such for some
awakens from a New York sunrise
this dichotomy like no other
forever reminding
our eyes of dawn
one's inner light
is forever rising
deposed dictators’ club
they sit there in their comfort
each in his moneyed retreat
maybe each reflecting
on unexpected defeat
unprosecuted criminals
guarded wherever they go
protected maybe in silence
for not telling what they know
the remaining world leaders
mouth off about their end
no position quite as transient
as that of political friend
and they push and the jostle
for a share of the spoils
particularly when
it’s a country rich in oil
back in the liberated places
where the worm finally turned
the mess is sorted out
maybe lessons learned
and for a little while
new alliances are cemented
the diplomats return and
credentials are presented
good will rules for the present
until that time comes when
power breeds corruption
and it all starts off again
they sit there in their comfort
waiting for revolution to end
and the deposed dictators’ club
welcomes the newly deposed friend
No more sleazy temptress,
no more groupies,
you’re lock-stock out of luck
if you think you’ll
get you claws in me.
No more easy riders,
no more floozies,
you’re down-out in the dark
if you want to
take a piece of me.
No more black-out nights,
no more STDs,
played with fire too many times
to think that it’s
good for me.
No more endless nightfall,
no more moneyed hearts,
it’s rock-bottom taking toll
on a man who’s
already pushed too far.
No more fake award shows,
no more bastard art
it’s rot-gut soulless stuff
fully deserving
of those single stars.
No more mindless chatter,
no more watching charts
it’s fool’s gold draining soul
from a man
with little left to start.
It’s time to go.
How can we take pride in a country
that is sliding into dissolution and chaos?
We praise ourselves for ending slavery.
yet racial prejudice is still much with us.
We pay slave wages and refuse to change
the minimum wage to a living wage.
We call all people equal under the law,
yet privilege and money or the lack of it
make legal decisions unequal every day.
We have liars, cheats and criminals in
our supposedly democratic government,
chosen primarily by a voting system
that is funded by moneyed corporations
with a vested interest and the wealthy.
Goal: to remain in power.
We declare all are entitled to liberty,
justice and the pursuit of happiness,
yet how can a people be happy without
security that they will not go bankrupt
because of hospital and medical bills?
How can we be proud of a country
where the supreme justices of the land
arbitrarily take away our rights
to make decisions about our sex lives
and personal decisions about our bodies?
Who choose to exercise the power of a
ruling class against the will of the people?
In a country founded on freedom of religion
we are more and more governed by those
who propound a certain religious mindset.
We are not yet living under a dictator,
and have freedoms not dreamed of in
dictatorships, but for how much longer?
Our freedoms are being taken away,
unilaterally, without recourse.
Our democracy is in mortal danger,
not from enemies abroad, but from within.