The leaves
From the trees
They fell
It was that time of year
Nature looked unwell
The sun disappeared
And out came the rain
Happiness vacated
What’s left of the brain
Festive season
The only saving grace
To lengthen the holidays
There was a case
All the hedgehogs
Went into hibernation
And those from elsewhere
Filled up Heuston Station
Temperatures turning
Cold and breezy
For putting on a jacket
The rest was easy
Autumn to Winter
And early Spring too
Thanks to the conditions
There was not much to do
Colourful lights shone
From the shop fronts
Passers by with the flu
Spoke in coughs and grunts
Don’t forget those
Who were tight on cash
For them
This ‘festive season’
Was nothing of the sort
Instead, it plagued them like a rash
Shamed by the nouveau riche
Who spent money quite brash
The media claimed
We were on the mend
And could issue more social dividend
However, some of the shareholders
In this society
Could not live
Off acts of piety
Something must give
For those who are broke
Food on the table
And somewhere to live
The tulips in the vase,
a clan of lassies fair.
Their buds they hold the gold,
the pollen of their youth
and promise sunrise told,
the tulips in the vase,
they lounge in waisted glass
with petals kidskin sleek
in shades as warm as fire,
oh, glamor girls trés chic.
The tulips in the vase,
romantic redheads bloom.
Their teacup tepals filled;
ideas nouveau riche
with secrets sunset spilled,
the tulips in the vase
as Venus feeds their dreams.
Demure, in damsels’ dupe,
a still-life painting prop—
enslaved for art they droop.
I make a perfect dry martini,
I read and write and speak Français,
All my suits, and shirts, and shoes are custom-made.
I own a Porsche and Maserati,
A house on Acapulco Bay
With scores of floors of marble tile that's all inlaid.
I have a staff to fetch and carry,
My every wish is their command,
If I drop things, I just leave them where they lay.
All I need do is snap my fingers,
Someone's always close at hand,
And they look after Señor Jim in every way.
I host the most elaborate soirées,
They're in society's upper niche,
On my birthday and, of course, on New Year's Eve,
Where the hoi polloi and high-born
Mingle with the nouveau riche,
And they're all the better for it when they leave.
This all may seem a bit pretentious,
And I don't mean to self-inflate,
For wealth and fame, of course, do not equate with happiness,
But in my dreams my alter ego
Will oftentimes exaggerate
And make seem real what, to be sure, is pure "b..s".
Somewhere in the past of here and now
we started dining on the cow
and now they want us all to stop
but they can’t figure out just how.
There first attack the realm of coin
demands that you call it Sir Loin
for he is served with wine, a toast
unlike the lower caste Rump Roast
The ribs have found a changing niche
from barbecue to nouveau riche
and pity those way too high strung
to savor the juicy silent tongue.
Note all the words of sated praise
from those who’ve dined on rare fillet
and curse all those who let it stay
upon the fire turning gray.
No burgers, cheese, a side of fries
I promise we won’t “Super Size”
No more drooling finger lickin’
Let’ just cut out eatin’ chik’n.
Perhaps the price is way too steep
Perhaps, lets just stop eating sheep.
John G. Lawless
©7/25/2022
Mine, full of old clutter.
But cultured!
Mahogany chaired.
Mantel-clocked.
Beneath whose framing's gold
As quaintly curved Age-locked
Grand pictured.
Laughingly echoed through
By contrast
Placing a price on
As worthy
Is this: of an open plan's
Nouveau riche buying spree.
Does not last.
(a collaboration with Robert Liguori )
The rich lovers did everything together,
dressed in expensive matching clothes from
"Little Owl Boutique "
two nouveau riche of New York marrying each other
wearing an exquisite collection
of plumes, feathers and little flowered heathers
The guests sat in their velvet seats and watched
as Marie Claire and Jean D'Archaud read the words
typed on an old Corona typewriter designed for two:
For richer or for poorer I will marry you today
and love you forever for I am here to stay
"Imagine if we lost everything" she tentatively asked
"then we'd trade the lobster for mac and cheese" he said
"and if we went from riches to rags" would you love me then?
"We'd still be serene and in love forever, " he said with a smile
For richer or for poorer I will marry you today
and love you forever for I am here to stay
Thankyou Robert for joining me in this writing venture
By Mystic Rose and Robert James Liguori
The rich lovers did everything together,
dressed in expensive matching clothes from
"Little Owl Boutique";
two nouveau riche of New York marrying each other
wearing an exquisite collection
of plumes, feathers and little flowered heathers.
The guests sat in their velvet seats and watched
as Marie Claire and Jean D'Archaud read the words
typed on an old Corona typewriter designed for two:
For richer or for poorer I will marry you today,
and love you forever for I am here to stay.
"Imagine if we lost everything?", she tentatively asked.
"Then we'd trade the lobster for mac and cheese.", he said.
"And if we went from riches to rags, would you love me then?"
"We'd still be serene, ain't love forever?", he said with a smile.
For richer or for poorer I will marry you today,
and love you forever for I am here to stay!
19-September-2021
What i love
further in this life,
It's woman...
woman of any
creed, race and color...:
female,
femme.
female...
long hair
firm ideas.
woman is formidable
pure mother,
sweet girl,
beast, feline that
attacks and defends,
as the panther in the vision
male...
Always present
always companion.
is occasionally fragile,
other times
she is adrenaline...
night female
fiesta girl... fatal
or simple
homemade...
Several types exist,
quiet homes,
bossy matrons,
family matriarchs,
mounted amazons
everything is wonderful...
other different types
are models that appear,
are pin up hanging,
women displayed...
Arrogant socialites,
dazzled
nouveau riche, and others
fighters...Joana Dàrc
of life...
the poor women,
the excluded poor,
no vote, no dowry
no right...
Awkwardly or not awkwardly
there is no other way...
want it or not
angry, not angry,
no dispute and no fight,
the woman is all nice
is the best in this life...!
Poetry, let’s me write freely,
But football the one to be viewed,
One I can do but the other I can’t,
It’s a fact not just others being rude!
The pow’r of the pen an enrichment,
But so is the thrill of a goal,
A poem about watching football,
My int’rests combined to the whole.
90 minute escape for the football,
But words can occur any time,
Winning the league on the last day?
Surpassed by a successful rhyme?
So football the game of the masses,
While poetry more of a niche?
One that was for working classes,
And one’s target the nouveau riche?
But no they both have open access,
A poem or a football game,
Whatever your preference, my wish,
Just hope that you’re glad that you came!
There was a furniture dealer named Maurice
Who acquired items for the Nouveau Riche.
Most popular by far,
The back seat of a car
Which they use for an occasional piece.
Money and wealth
used to accompany class
Now more often than not,
it tends toward the crass
There used to be style
that went along with good luck
Now nouveau riche dogma
just passes the buck
The internet minions
and rappers galore
Litter our vision
as they buy out our stores
This newest gold standard
obsesses with bling
Their knowledge in tatters
they read not a thing
All intention is focused
on numbers that climb
Like lasers, they pierce
the mercurial dime
But time marches onward
for rich and for poor
Looking back, a past wasted
—ahead nothing more
(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2018)
I've always felt prosperous till Satan's Trumps,
They're American pirates and whores: Worship "Lust!"
Now I've ash on my face, and my gold smells like rust.
Institutions we trusted, have raped or dead umps.
The weak ape the rich and are quite willing tools.
Even though, with "redistricting," voting's just game,
For sure, people who write the rules aren't feeling shame!
Nouveau riche, brainwashed savoir-faire, don't know they're fools.
America's traitors cut tax for the rich,
Even though they're not there yet, they hope to join ranks,
But the rich are amused by this, tell them "No thanks!"
"You just sold out your brothers! Fools! Back to your ditch!”
Long Tooth
November 12, 2017
What if I happened to win the lottery
What would I do with the money
Spend it on all kinds of frivolous things
Or a year long trip with my honey
Eat in restaurants three times a day
Choose the richest item on the menu
Act like a real old mucky muck
And obnoxious no matter the venue
They'd surely know I was 'nouveau riche'
By my big mouth flamboyant air
But I wouldn't care with a bulging wallet
Doing everything with panache and flair
What a pipe dream I'm currently having
As if this sweet old loveable jester
Could be anything but the belle of the ball
A vision of beauty in polyester
Odds are about fourteen million to one
So I won't be buying the beer
More chance of becoming a cultural icon
Like Cyrus or Perry or Spears
© Jack Ellison 2014
So he loaded up the fossil fuel and they moved to Beverly
Hills that is, Hollywood, movie stars ? Afore their golden years...
Her Queen of Buckingham Palace sent for Shakespeare as to enquire
His nether worlds nouveau riche nostrum Prince, Nightingale Night Blindness
If their Fab Four would be accompanying King Abbooboo to the Jim Crow festival during
Astarte's, William the Conqueror's, Normandy of Christopher Columbus', avant-garde days ?
Signant his reply carried past the Black Hills of Dunderhead Falls; via Her Whites Templer Thee, Search'light.
What if I happened to win the lottery
What would I do with the money
Spend it on all kinds of frivolous things
Or a year long trip with my honey
Eat in restaurants three times a day
Choose the richest item on the menu
Act like a snobbish old mucky muck
And obnoxious no matter the venue
They'd surely know I was 'nouveau riche'
By my big mouth flamboyant air
But I wouldn't care, with a bulging wallet
I'd do everything with panache and flair
Quite a pipe dream I'm currently having
Not a chance this lovable jester
Could be anything but the belle of the ball
A vision of beauty in polyester
Odds are about fourteen million to one
So I won't be buying the beer
More chance of becoming a cultural icon
Like Mylie or Britney Spears
© Jack Ellison 2012
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