the cat chair was loved from 1962 to this day
It was purchased with lots of moola by my Aunt Fay
At the time it was shocking, nothing other women would buy
She was ahead of her years, she conformed to no woman or guy
Aunt Fay loved the cat chair, it was reserved for her alone
We did not dare sit in it, even to talk on the phone
For it was her domain, her favorite furniture piece by far
Her next favorite possession was her two-toned Riviera car.
Categories:
moola, cat,
Form: Rhyme
9/9/17
A continual downfall
Daily was at a crawl
From so much alcohol
This problem I'm going to solve
When you keep bringing in the haul
It's sad how many of ya'll
Want to brawl
Just another brick in the wall
I'm out to ball
Unread messages and missed calls
No time to stall
When it's money, I want it all
Got to stack it tall
Not getting involved in anything small
Not pseudo
Numero uno
Out for mucho
Heart colder than pluto
It's like hallelujah
When I get that moola
Here to always outdo ya
Even If I got to use a bazooka
Or put you in waters with shark and barracuda
From here to beyond the Bermuda
Categories:
moola, how i feel, perspective,
Form: Rhyme
The Treasure Chest
©July, 2013
He searched everywhere, looking high and low,
Looking for that pot of gold.
His search was methodical, deliberate and slow,
Nothing could remain in hold.
After months of pursuing this lifelong dream,
He accepted the futility of his pursuit.
On final effort of this hapless scheme
Brought reward beyond dispute.
He uncovered a treasure beyond compare.
He couldn’t comprehend its import.
The heirloom upon which he did intently stare
Brought joy that his dream he didn’t abort.
The moral of the story is quite simple you see,
Pursue and pursue to the end.
Never, ever a quitter be
And you’ll have more than moola to spend!
Categories:
moola, dedication,
Form: Rhyme
when the policeman of the world
tells ya you’re gonna get a $100 million in aid
to help your rebel force
overthrow the tyrant in power,
you better believe that when
your rebel force
becomes the tyrant in power,
that you’re gonna own up to that time way back when
that policeman was so nice as to give you that paper
to get you out of that squishy area
between that rock & that hard place---
and you will have to do what the big policeman says
just like the rest of the world
because you owe us &
if you don’t?
(psst…if you don’t, we will ****ing blow apart your country like Iraq, after it stopped doing what we said---don’t think for a second that you are immune)
after Syria is taken over by the rebels
who’ve been bought & paid for by the US & its buddies,
then control of the most important oil producing country in the eastern mediterranean
will be ours,
and we “forces of the free world”
can kick back in our chair
cackling maniacally like Vincent Price at the end of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller,”
knowing that we have a stranglehold
on yet another part of the world.
Categories:
moola, life,
Form: Free verse
there once was a painter,
a writer,
a singer,
who painted a picture,
wrote a novel,
sang a song,
and someone loved it soooooooooo much
that they told said individual
that they’d give em’
some moola for it---
from then on,
the painter, writer, singer
painted the same painting over & over again,
wrote the same novel over & over again,
sang the same song over & over again,
making a career out of trying to sustain that feeling
of perceived
ACCEPTANCE
which came with the self-exploitation of one’s own
idea &
they
died
crying
in
a
puddle
of
their
own
mediocrity.
Categories:
moola, life,
Form: Free verse