Long Upper class Poems

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


Social Creed

This social status brings me to my knees, as I sense a divide, a widening disease.
The upper class, devoid of any pride, spreads their lies and hide behind the media while 
                 others silently bide. 

They try to appease, ignoring the pleas of those in need, lost in the social freeze.
A creed that breeds, like a newly sprouted seed, fostering division, where hatred's the creed. 
While they preach to the masses, those dealt a cruel fate, social structures thrive, but their
                 hearts are sedate.

 This creed only nourishes greed at the top, while so many struggle, just trying to stop.


Premium Member Upper Class Clowns and Socialist Just Want To Have Fun While Ignoring the Blood All Around Them

Upper-class clowns, socialists whining from their crystal palaces. 
Fine dining ... greasy-lipped pimps.
Lecturing the working man on global warming,
Who just topped off their private ride
with ozone-poking jet fuel piss-

Upper class clowns and socialists, always cawing about American gluttony.
The redistribution of wealth.
While wearing dead pelts around swollen necks and double chins.
Blood diamonds dangling from pampered pinkies.
Weeping crocodile tears about the evils of the Second Amendment.
While behind ((((gated communities))))) 
their private security dogs armed to the teeth-

Upper class clowns and socialists.
Burning books, babbling about lack of freedom.
While strolling naked over minimum-wage-manicured lawns.
Dipping painted toes in minimum-wage-maintained pools. 
Sipping minimum-wage martinis under a commies red dawn.
So eager to take you to task for not wearing their commie red masks.
Playing their little shrinking violet games.
Only half out of their socialist closets. 
Hypocritical yapping -socialist autocrats.

Premium Member Posh English Gent

‘Oh I say isn’t this spiffing or what?’
says Jeremy taking the horse for a trot.
It will be pheasant for dinner which the butler will sort
followed by Havana cigars and a nice drop of port
in the billiard room where the gentlemen play,
then a nice game of backgammon if it’s on a Wednesday.
The silver spoon  in his mouth means he speaks rather strange, 
words like golly gosh, old bean- all rather deranged. 
The Rolls will be cleaned for a trip to the course
where golf will be played in tidy plus fours. 
Then it's off to the cricket with the boys for a jolly,
joined by stock brokers and bankers with plenty of lolly! 
It’s lunch at the Ivy or tea at the Ritz
all terribly posh, just like St Moritz
where his chalet will tend to the winter delight,
skiing with royalty on champagne powder of white. 
The hallway displays portraits of the old,
founders of industry which took hold
securing old money to ensure a liquidity
where one will never face financial humility.
Form: Rhyme

New Elizabethan Britain

The quick fix had worked so
She slipped the needle away,
Her little liquid friend that helped 
Through each long working day.
A toot of the horn told her
He’s out there with her lift
For her to work the punters
From the pub leaving shift.

Only a whore they said
When the body was found,
A battered shop mannequin
Lying on  waste ground.
With their numbers cut the
Police couldn’t do much more
And, as the papers had said,
She was only a whore.

Somebody said there
Was a child somewhere
Quietly and efficiently
Taken into care.
Three girls at the funeral 
Hardly a significant memoriam
Then she was ushered off
To the local crematorium.

A cup of tea in a cafe 
In memory of a working mate
Quickly slurped down as 
The afternoon was getting late,
The girls went back to work:
With their habits to feed	
Any fear they may have felt
Overcome by addiction’s need.

Not  high class call girls
With upper class clientele 
Just a poor exploited women
With only one thing to sell.
So, Austerity still rules,
Unfair decisions are made,
And poor women are still driven 
To the rough end of the trade.
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member People Just Being People

*People just being people.
These are the kind I want to be around.
How I deplore those putting on airs.
I like the folks whose both feet touch the ground!

Uppity people won’t hang out with lower class folks.
Some society types brag about their good breeding.
For those born with golden spoons in their mouths,
education in REAL life is what they are needing!

Fashionistas and upper class snobs on the hill
seem to think that blue collar’s a sin.
Too many people have hate for their brothers.
*We are all alike beneath the skin!

What matters the most is being yourself.
As they say, “To thy own self be true.”
So this world might at last enjoy full peace,
we must respect those who don’t think like we do!

Sept. 30, 2019 for Richard Lamoureux's Pick A Line Any Line Poetry Contest
*The title and first line are from Richard's poem: Broken People
The other line *is from my poem: A Love Letter to my Friends of India
(see Link in box above for my Love Letter poem)
Form: Rhyme


What the Butler Heard

What the Butler Heard
Extract from a memoir

Lord Illustrious Penge of Lampwicker Hall,
Welcomed local Toffs, to his Name-Dropper ball.
Noses upturned with a touch of conceit,
Hob-Knobbing with gentry and gentleman elite.
Colonel recalled, his luncheon with Churchill,
Discussing backbenchers and a new Commons bill.
Shooting down Stukas, Captains claim to fame
“We had no choice Sir, Hitler started the game”
Lady Bell and I, champion ballroom dance,
After meeting Fred Astaire, purely by chance.
I worked with Crosby, taught him to Croon,
Just as well really, he couldn’t sing in tune.
Rupert went to school with Dame Vera Lynn,
and starred in a war film with Anthony Quinn.
Mortenson served, in old Atlee’s Cabinet,
Roberta was a Barrister when they first met.
Bradman hit this Six, into the members stand,
Luckily, I caught it, stretching out one hand.
I got a hole in one, on the sixth at Upper Plumb,
Sir Monty looked aghast, utterly struck dumb.
Sent my son to Eton, toughen him up a tad,
Hopefully play at Flanker, just like my old Dad.
Got myself a Cadi’, drives like a dream,
Shiny sleek and black, trim of vintage cream.
Gielgud and Guinness, met me at the Royal,
A script for their new play, Rich Man & Toil.
Later with QE2, after receiving my MBE,
She asked my opinion, of the shows on BBC. 
I stayed at base camp, nursing a busted leg,
Hilary splinted it up, with rope and spare tent peg.
Spent some time in Burma, till the Japs came in,
Came home to Blighty, temper wearing thin.
I was at the Oval when Hutton hit 364,
England posted 903, a record breaking score.

In service with his lordship, so many stories,
Serving champagne to upper class Tories.
Tales might be true, just a little overstated,
Like the one that got away, typically inflated.
They were rather pompous, but often kind,
Especially the ones, left with half a mind.
Get me a stiff one Walters, Champers is gassy,
Just Lords way, sounding snob and brassy.
 
Then I won the football pools,
Bought my wife a gem,
So now I am a gentleman,
Just like the rest of them.
© Kevin Shaw  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Couplet

Premium Member Confession of a Conceited Rose

Being a rose I strike a pose, I'm preening for your gaze,
The flower queen by any means, entitled to high praise. 

Of upper class I got some sass, no equal to my spell, 
My thorns are sleek, adding more chic, may hurt yet meaning well.

And best of all - I'm standing tall, my stem juicy and thick, 
I'm pampered so, nurtured to grow, I'm lovers' premier pick.

My scent's refined, my petals shine, the focus of the date, 
But once I’ve bloomed, my beauty's doomed, the cycle of my fate.

So much to lose, If I could choose, my throne of beauty queen -
I would trade fast for what would last - the life of evergreen. 


February 19, 2023

Sponsor: Joseph May 
Contest: In Bloom

Love Versus Money Your Choice

Intelligence 
Knowledge 
Ivy League 
State Educated
Working Class 
Upper Class
Held in high regard 
Or a lowly security guard
Single Parent
Family of 10
Reared in a Pen
Holidaying in the Hampton's 
Penthouse suite on the corner of 5th and Central
Bus commute to work
Or Chauffeur driven limos 
And Broadway shows 
Or pint of beer and salt and vinegar crisps 
Hand me downs and a handshake from dad for a birthday gift
Can't buy love
Can't put a monetary price upon it
Its priceless 
Everything else is window dressing
There are as many if not more 
Unhappy wealthy people than there are poor

Premium Member Have a Cuppa

We used to just have a cup of coffee

	Black

		Possibly with milk

			Maybe with sugar

Mostly on Sundays and with cream as a bonus


Today they call it caffe latte or cappuccino

	Americano for the purist

                From a fancy machine

			With intricate pads

Anytime everywhere all day long


Espresso and hard pressed for choice

	Salted caramel mocha

		Strawberry frappuccino

			Machiato or Mochaccino

Did the wallet grow with the taste


But the ultimate gimmick on the luxurious decadence scale

Chewed and spit out seeds collected for Monkey Coffee or

Kopi Luvak or palm civet beans basically half digested poop


For one hundred dollars a pound I volunteer to add enzyme

And flavour to mucus secretion purely organic and human

Free trade maximum wage and organically tested intestines


At a price I would consider to s(h)it in a greenhouse in Iceland

Or gaze at Taj Mahal Paddington Station or the Eiffel Tower

Volcanic eruptions with Ricinus oil are available at a surcharge


Gluten free habitat and vegan production site can be arranged

Hypo allergenic and guaranteed lactose tolerant for milky coffee

The crap has no limits and animal welfare comes at a premium


Ingenious and indigenous I vow to cater for all upper class smells

Calibrate flatulence and ingestion ablutions elimination and harvest

So you my dear customer can metaphorically kiss my solvent behind



Who says that one cannot turn faeces into money by milking some fools

09th January 2020

Premium Member The Class Ending

It is that season again 
When men are men 
In the upper class ready to defend 
Their social status as leaders 
With innocent images of being sweeter
Finding ladies to be courted 
Despite not being able to afford it 
Girls flip the magazine pages 
While their beaus make their wages 
For one evening out 
Acting mature looking good no doubt 
They call it a formal dance where the chivalry carries the gentlemen lance 
Escorting their ladies 
Who were childhood mate tees 
Filled with beauty talk they have that certain walk 
Onto the dance floor 
Innocent romance in store 
Prom night is here and trying not to sneer 
Since it is good bye to friends 
After thirteen years together in one community of academic social mends 
It is your stand, your plan to take command 
Kids no more saying kindly adult hood open the door
Form: Rhyme

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