Long Rich person Poems

Long Rich person Poems. Below are the most popular long Rich person by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rich person poems by poem length and keyword.


Confenssion

Goodmorning my dearest ones
I have a confession to make today
One day I was thinking about life
The struggles one has to endure before success kicks in
The investment one had to draw and rewrite before you are branded successful in life
Many millionaires are trying to become billionaires 
Yet the poor are trying to become rich
To get food one has to work very hard for the rich for the powerful wants your money to
If a rich person tells you jump from a twenty meters apartment in exchange for a million many would do it
The richness of the soul is no longer classified as success but its joy is traded with money
If money could buy immortality then would God hàs value in our lives
But am glad a choice to live is in God's hand  for if it were in human hands
Few black people would be alive,for racism would have won the day
My dear reader awake to the fact that we are busy with life problems
Then we neglect the everlasting soul
I would love to preach but my gospel is not sent but my own composition
Do wife submit to there husbands as st Paul said in Colossians?
Do husbands love there wives as it is the fairest gift one can give his wife
Do today's children respect there elders
In my tribesmen is there any elder who can lead an offering to God and God answers immediately
Long drought was common just like today but elders prayed for rain in faith and God would answer
Today the elders have a new role with the young girls in the society
The young to have an appetite for all liquor brands
The joy to serve Christ is compared to the crowd turnout and money prosperity
My brothers do not work hard as the ground is cursed for you lack faith in Christ
My sisters the joy of earthly wealth depends on how well you know Christ
My children ....the righteous elders have spoken
Heed the word of God and you will be successful in the land
May joy and peace be yours forever more
© Chui Munga  Create an image from this poem.


Premium Member The Mystical Dream

It was a midsummer night; heat pervaded the season;
Mosquitoes and flies moved around as though hatching treason;
Cool breeze verily tried to pierce through the humidity,
Failed; as it was like hearts of humans with rigidity...!

It took hours of turning and churning before sleep entered,
Mosquitoes tried to for a few drops of blood, self-centered;
Dreams! Nay, nightmares I'd say, hovered over my empty mind,
Bringing in devils, phantoms and fiends of every kind...!

It's toward morning, like an angel opening the door,
Entered a dream, may not be magical, like a rain-pour;
I witnessed my intimate friend's newly built house sinking,
Like the Titanic, gradually, its whole shape shrinking...!

Merry crows, eagles and vultures were flying all around,
As though, as on an earthquake, mountains of carcasses found;
Noises, cries, screams and screeches filled the entire atmosphere,
Like which I had never heard during my long yester-year...!

I couldn't wait for the morning; Before dawn I set out,
What could be? How? And why? Filled in my mind many a doubt; 
I found his house (newly built) standing firm and unshaken,
Relieved, yet, wanted to find what misery has broken...!

Debts, he said; ashamed of telling you; loans of construction!
I might need to sell-out the house; or find my destruction;
I was perplexed as I was not very rich person too,
As friend true, I must reach out to him at his time of woe...!

Other friends and companions I instantly collected,
To him, like heart-beats, each one's compassion got connected; 
We soon sold out, whatever is sellable, for his sake,
Saved him, forthwith, from his agonizingly cancerous ache...!


26 September 2022
The Mystical Dream Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Form: Rhyme

A Blessed Person

Blessed is the man to whom the Lord shall not impute sin."Romains 4:8

a blessed person in the eyes of God, 
most evil people count the blessing of the Lord
             in the physical things they have and 
forgetting the heavy luggage of sins 
                         which they carry daily. 
when they die sinners ,
 they are buried with sins and 
leave all luxury stuffs behind. 
Is it true that sinners won't reach  heaven?
When some people hear about heavenly places ,
 they look at the sky,
thinking that God lives behind 
the physical clouds which is not true. 
when some people hear about hell,
 they fix their eyes on the ground, 
thinking that devil and demons 
are under the ground, 
Which is not true. 
When some people die and 
are buried 
under the ground, 
some people think the deads
remain where they were buried them. 
Don't astonish to see a rich person who is buried 
in a Ferrari and
some of his relatives struggle to put bread
on their tables. 
Don't astonish to  see the dead bodies 
buried with luxury golden stuffs
and some relatives are so poor. 
when some people fail to understand 
the scriptures spiritually,
 it is possible to do things ignorantly.

Blessed is a pure man 
As  he is not a  sinner
He shares his dinner 
with the Lord mostly.
He keeps his treasures
in heaven where his heart is. 
When he is leaving this earth 
His body turns to earth 
His spirit continues living with God. 

October 09/2023

His self believe

His self believe
When a child, they said there was no God
if there was one, why would he (always a he)
let us suffer poverty and need
The wealthiest man in the world believes
God is a loving person because he worships
him and not the power bestowed on him  
he thinks his gift of plenty is given by God
Not for him to believe his riches is a curse
given by an identity that hates humanity
Money in our material world is power
doors open the wealthy 
He thinks politicians sit by his feet for
sagacity gives him a position that makes
him feel important, they need his money
and his opinions that might be banal
and claim his voice is that of the people
Secretly, they despise him, give him
position that if he succeeds and there is
a protest, the blame is his
His, the rich person, private life is a mess 
he forgets his friends are cunning 
flocking to him for economic advance 
and women let him know he has charm 
and laugh at his childish sense of humor
It is hard to be a millionaire looking for
love, but the money is an unbreakable wall
His walk through life is not easy, but I wish
him well and hope he finds a sanity
if he listens to his heart where God dwells
© Jan Hansen  Create an image from this poem.

the big apple

Friday in the big apple

 It is 17.53 in New York 
those who work at night are stirring 
drink coffee, shower and dress
to look their best
This as the multitude drive home 
for the week end 
The police are busy, a rich person
was shot by what appears to be 
by a charming man with a winning
smile, but was he a man?
We live in a time when many women 
strive to look like men, because 
they think men have more power
when they realize it is not, so blame
the capitalist system
Two professions are busy tonight
the police who have murder to catch
and the women how try to look 
as feminine as possible, to entice men's
libido, they are more busy now 
than ever before when so many women 
strive to look like dowdy  executives
with horn rimmed specks 
 more interested in status than love
The police will find their man, commentators 
will blame Trump and the man with 
an odd name, Elon Musk (is he real) for 
the violence caused by unrestricted 
freedom of expression.
What happens in New York to night
pales into insignificance, compared 
with a world, at the brink of of a war
that will destroy us all
Perhaps with Exception of Musk who
will settle on Mars
© Jan Hansen  Create an image from this poem.


Expensive

Everything has a price,
but some people may find a price to be higher than others do.

A rich person doesn’t blink at buying groceries,
but some consider theirs unaffordable.

The same goes for the one who is confident in how they look,
never overthink how much they eat.
But for some people, eating is expensive.

The cost is constant regret and insecurity.
And inflation rates are through the roof.

I had a dream that my old pastor started preaching about politics again,
And in the process, he deported Jesus from his own church.

He’d say, “I’d love to meet Jesus…
if he came to the US with the right papers!”
As if Jesus didn’t give him a passport for the kingdom of heaven.

In my dream I saw some members of the church give dirty looks to others,
some so hostile the targets walked out and never returned.

For those people, the price of attending church became too much.

There is no excuse for passing judgement on people in the name of your truth.
There is no excuse for making church too expensive
when the gift of salvation is free.

Gold Or Tin

Ante mortem let us trust
For in the grave we turn to dust
Yet in life the poor are cursed
Our treatment post mortem is just.

The worms and beetles care no more
For the rich than for the poor.
They are happy to devour
Bankers,despots,every hour.

Ante mortem, greed does win
Houses built of gold and sin
But God,who lives in each within,
Cares no more for gold thann tin

If post mortem we are judged
Why does the rich person grudge?
Why do we refuse to budge
Up until the final nudge?

Throw away your heavy goods
Live like daisies by the woods..
Fear not hurricane nor floods
As daises grow even in mud.

More dependent on all power
We trust in madmen's city towers.
Yet One told us to live like flowers...
And enjoy life for an hour.

Perception is no privilege.
We each have the wits to judge.
See and note where you have smudged
What your creation would allege.

Post and ante, even now
The currents of our hearts allow...
The inner sea which has its flow
To take us where we need to go
Form: Rhyme

rich man's blue

Rich man’s blue

A problem when a person meets someone
 seriously, they lose their logical sense when 
the rich person speaks to them or smile
They are ready to agree that the person says
is the truth, if we accept what he says
He makes mundane of going to Mars
 we know his timeline is wrong
 but what the heck, he foots the bill
I think of Elon Musk, who has become 
the new Shreck role Putin had 
But it didn’t sit well as old Putin looked cultural 
Wear a nice tie and is a dog lover
His foray into German politics is brave and timely
 the AfD can lift Germany out of the hole 
she is in now and is making Germany strong again 
As for his intemperate opinions about the UK
 one can say they stirred up the reaction that 
one thinks the British public was in favor of
 if not the political leadership in that country. 
We can ignore Elon Musj when he tramples 
on our precious  dignity
 like the Vatican, he has no army divisions.
© Jan Hansen  Create an image from this poem.

Worthless Copper

Pennies are made of worthless copper that even a hungry beggar
refuses to pick up; either I threw them away or kept them in a piggy jar,
but the day came when need and desperation made me rethink
of their worth...a thousands of them could had gotten me far;
A rich person collects not as a poor one who is always on the brink...
has someone looked for them when rough times kept them from that bazaar?     



Pennies are made of worthless copper that nobody wants to own,
unless they are, at least, fifty years old...what would President Lincoln,
think of our antipathy for his imprinted image on these little coins?
Do you possess many of these? Save them for those rainy days!
 


Pennies are made of worthless copper, everybody seems repined,
humiliated and embarrassed to carry them in their  purse, or pocket...
look around: they are found everywhere on a sidewalk, or in a parking lot;
make all aware they are convenient to have for easiness of mind!
Form: Rhyme

The Value of Money

The Value of Money 
Once I was a multi millionaire it was shortly after the war ended 
in 1945, when I found a bundle of German marks from 1914. 
Think I found them on a shelf in an abandoned house used by 
German officers, there was so many things they left behind like
gas masks and bikes and I learned to cycle on a pilfered bike, 
it was black and had a Nazi symbol painted on its frame, but my
uncle Harold painted it over. I was lucky who found money, some 
of the lads found live hand grenades and blew themselves up.

The winter of 1945 was cold and we often used my millions 
to get the fire going in the morning and mother said we were
so rich we could afford to burn money. In the village where I live 
there is only one rich person, he is a miser and live behind tall 
walls, his car has dark windows, and I have never seen smoke 
coming out of his chimney; ash of notes white as snow.

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