Mad money grubber
Immersed in the throes of a
Skinflint Scrooge syndrome…
Enriching coffers, and yet
Renouncing to joys of life
-------------------------------
His miser boss
Went out for a toss
When the MD knocked his door.
He plummeted down
To save his crown
When his senior asked for more.
His hair had grown
on his chest
On his back as well down south.
Where nested in peace
There hung two bees
His tongue got stuck in his mouth.
The doc came up
Once or twice
To run his regular tests.
His BP down,
His wife in town
He lost his killer jests.
He crossed himself
and prayed to God
His taste for wine was lost.
The honey bees
made merry cheer,
His company bore his cost.
Then one fine day
they stopped his pay,
No wife no son no home.
He saw a man
without a shawl,
All hurled and curled in snow.
With nothing to lose,
the bees long gone.
He poured his drink once more.
The only coat,
he gave in zest
To the man and settled his score.
They all know the capacity
He’s enjoying in their city,
His hurting voice at its loudest;
Body movements of the proudest,
Powered by his swell bank account;
Many swear he does billions count;
Yes, his pay slips on a table
And No Normal remained stable…
Yet, it has been Trickles from him;
If you grab his dime, sing a hymn!
His criticisms breed like flies,
His smiles included in his lies…
Who ever turned A True Sponsor
That would Helping Dollars censor?
Now for ‘Chairman’ dreams not of bars
But this shall be rather in Mars,
Voters dead sure that no miser
On money matters got wiser.
https://www.facebook.com/StMatthewsEpiscopalChurch
a knowledge miser
when he had become wiser
now a supervisor
what we did intend
much money to them will lend
all of it can spend
price gains and gains
from all of our money drains
price high still remains
more oil can create
high price will eradicate
how to educate
great start made to stitch
are not sure the one or which
that did have a glitch
new one we have found
was a townhouse on the ground
silent with no sound
Man heard a voice saying
Lend me your eyes
I will show you the sufferings
Man heard a voice saying
Lend me your ears
I will tell you the reason
Man heard a voice saying
Lend me your mouth
I will argue with you the ultimate solution
But man never cares
He is a born miser
Not to lend anything
Except for his own sake
And benefits
Money
The most preferred content of a bulging envelope
For those with a project to develop!
A solicitation by the poor,
With sometimes bent knees on a floor.
Tempter of twenty – first century thieves
Hoping to receive the accolades of Chiefs;
Motivator of wildfire ambitions!
Rooms widening for intuitions!
A guarantor of treasured privileges,
Has had people plucked from stagnant villages;
Money is a capital concern to all bursars,
As much, the singular obsession of grabbing misers
To whom making it is pretty hard,
Once with little, turns its fierce guard!
Not itself an edible
But makes each one saleable.
The reward to tune-singing piper,
His beads of perspiration, best wiper;
The trusted charmer of a woman
To nearly all her man says “Amen”
TIGHT WAD
Yer cannie, as cannie be.
Nae sloutch, or frivolous, spend-thrift, ye.
Whose coin, to feered to leave the purse,
-in-case it’s ye’sd tae quench the thirst.
O, the ither, who just stood ye one.
Now sitting empty as a drouthy burn,
as he waits on you to stand your turn.
He taps his glass, he looks at you,
A bead of sweat runs doon your broo.
There’s nae way oot o this one noo.
Ye steady yer-sel, ye are resigned.
Then an idea springs tae mind.
You dig deep, you rummage roond.
The ither hopes its coin you’ve foond.
But you pull oot your watch instead,
his face is thunder yours turns red.
But not of shame, but by reprieve,
for the precious coin that’s now been
saved--to see the light of a-nither day,
as you prepare to go your way.
Jings is that the time, you will exclaim.
It’s time that you were getting hame.
And as you leave to go on your way,
I’ll catch you next time you will say,
As you pat you’re purse, well hidden away,
Your coinage safe for a-nither day.
A poem by john scott
that which we hunger for
our appetite is huge—
times to reciprocate
we become
Skrooge
2/9/2020
F F I series 71 fifer
Brian Strand, sponsor
Poetry form: Fifer- 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 lines of reducing number of words (or syllables if preferred).
by Wayne Wysocki
There once was a banker from Kent
Whose life was fanatically bent
On saving each quid
Like no other did
And moaning with each pound he spent
Your money,your belongings you are the adviser,
Spend,not a spendthrift nor going miser!
Ophelia had cancerous breasts
According to all of the tests
But old Doctor Kaiser
Was simply a miser
Who plundered the most treasured chests
She was often totally furious
With her husband who was penurious
He gave pennies to the poor
After quite a big uproar
His flamboyant stinginess quite curious.
The miser and the model
are a couple, you might say,
yet they don't speak to one another,
she treats him like a brother,
how to add a little romance
and excitement to their day?
He forgoes his prime obsession
and decides on a surprise
for his delectable companion
with such sadness in her eyes.
He promises forever
with no secrets and no lies.
As a miser he hoards money,
as a model she craves size,
so he gives up on his stinginess,
forks out three thousand dollars
to provide her with that extra lift,
such joy... the perfect prize!
The miser and the model
are a couple, you might say,
yet they don't speak to one another,
she treats him like a brother,
how to add a little romance
and excitement to their day?
He forgoes his prime obsession
and decides on a surprise
for his delectable companion
with such sadness in her eyes.
He promises forever,
no more secrets, no more lies.
As a miser he hoards money,
as a model she craves size,
so he gives up on his stinginess,
forks out three thousand dollars
to provide her with 'an extra lift,'
she gives her man a hug and kiss
for she is thrilled to bits!
The miser pinched his pennies
A mime who danced for dimes
Reserved in days of plenty
For days of rose and wine
Planted seeds of kindness
Did tend his garden well
Toiled forever mindless
Awaiting the steeple knell
But came a spring of drought
Bright green did turn to brown
Old miser chanced on doubt
As blood dripped off his brow
The summer hinted rain
In fall the winds did blow
Winter froze the panes
Next spring it rained and flowed
His nest was all but barren
The garden wild with weed
And days of his preparin'
Had all but gone to seed
His roses did not bloom
His wine did sour and smell
No dancing did resume
Alas the tolling bell
an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
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