There is a town that is so enchanting,
at it’s center a strip of wild saloons.
A hidden game’s still in play enticing
gentlemen with a lust for golden spoons.
While holding a Joker’s hand start betting
you may get lucky and find the tycoons.
Are you breezy enough to shoot a shot?
Life is a gamble here, like it or not.
When the poem became tears
As the ink drips,
I have become an emotional basket case.
My keyboard squeals, as the businessman's anxiety climbs
At the sound of the opening bells,
Tariff wars targeting the poor,
Evil Eyes merges with the Texas Tycoons
What is the poor trader's offense?
Going once, going twice,
To be poor is to be honest,
How can honesty be the best policy
Knowingly, a poor man can never win a war with a rich man
Going once, going twice no deal
Tariff wars targeting the poor:
“They fought with them, we feel the pain
Forget the old saying, you scratch my back
I scratch yours, what are the poor man's justifications
Tighten your podiums, ring your bells
And remember the words,
“They charge us, we charge them,
Why is the world upset?
Aggression, depression, and the will to survive
Inferior and permanent: listen to
Bob Marley's “War song we will always be in war”
Look around your surroundings,
which abnormal things do you see clearly?
People catching busses and trains,
or the unkept beggar asking for money?
It's the norm for the lonely one to desire
everything: a wife or someone to confide in and trust;
Have we found ours? Do we still search for that one?
Which prize will we pay to cover the cost?
Lucky are the sons of the powerful tycoons
who live in true comfort and waste huge fortunes
on pleasures such as fine wines and luxuries;
why does luck favors some, not those with dreams?
It's the norm for the lonely one to desire
everything: let him love, laugh, cry and drink wine!
Are we willing to end our pursuit and settle down?
If this is our real wish, we have earned our crown!
Wanderer of busy streets and empty allies,
those are the wrong places to look for any love;
none of them can promise joy, only delusions:
examine your conscience and truly give!
I am reporting from Normandy,
where a cheese war has started
between two hospitality business tycoons,
for acquiring the ownership of a shipload
of Brie and Comembert soft and creamy cheese,
heavily consumed popularly in their two outlets,
Wine and Cheese Tavern and Charcuterue Shack.
As the cheese ship arrived,
the owners of these dining holes tried
to negotiate the price with the Captain, but failed,
for both the parties offered increasing competitive bids.
So, the indecisive Captain suggested
they fight out the possession issue
in the cheese war, going on now for two months,
and seems not to end, for no one is winning.
The eventual owner might be getting
a shipload of rotten French delicacy.
THE HIJACKER WHO WAS HIJACKED
The mission is the pursuit of Caicedo,
the race has been on since the January set-go,
keepin' the paparazzis tongue in closed bridle.
Call Liverpool Big Jax of the Jungle,
and Chelsea, Richie, with cash in bundle.
Hijacking isn't alien in the round leather game,
though the salty feeling of the victim isn't the same,
the aftermath stain is what the media will frame.
Swung-in to hijack 3 month labour of Chelsea,
the American Clearlake tycoons 're never at sea
as they hijacked Liverpool’s hijack attempt for Caicedo,
and Lavia to punish 'em & their transfer window.
Served hot by Chelsea, that makes it two hijacks,
breaking the heart of Liverpool the Big Jax.
The hijacked ends-up as the hijacker in a twinkler
as Chelsea hijacked the hijack of the hijacker.
VICK MANUEL POETRY
{VMP}
Form: Quatern/Rhymes
Copyright ©? August 14th, 2023.
Even the most powerful fall in the end
No matter the prestige they fall like all men
Tycoons with fortune
Lowly street urchins
No one is immune time does not bend
One day, we will organize things by priority
Emphasize your health over your bounty
Favoring lenient prophylaxis above authority
In favor of people, rather than oil paucity
Up to this point, we will rely on charity.
Whether it was a donation or a reward
Because of you, I finally took the sword
I am paddling the currents of my hoard
In its wake, I went down with the horde.
Your limbs feel the kiss of the moon
She strolls happily in a fading sun boon
The poor plate waits for a spoon
What is the person who cannot feel others' swoons?
Noticing the arduous pain yet still inopportune
Water, not blood in veins, if they are tycoons.
Written: December 07, 2022
Even the most powerful fall in the end
No matter the prestige they fall like all men
Tycoons with fortune
Lowly street urchins
No one's immune, time does not bend
Standing underneath the tree
Set and ready, just for me
Christmas morn held my surprise
Through my half shut, sleepy eyes
There I saw this massive stand
As my mama shook my hand
Leading me then to explore
Brand new county "General Store”
As the owner of this shop
More than just a “Mom and Pop”
I could stock and sell so much
Cans and pasta, beans and such
Register with money stacked
Coins and bills to be exact
Sat upon the counter stall
Customers were not so tall!
Props and shelves and goods galore
All set for tycoons of four
Too big for a box to fill
Perfect for a childhood thrill
With this memory in place
Mom said, “should’ve seen your face”
As she watched my spirits lift
For this perfect Christmas gift
Dear little children gather near
there is something I must share
be so silent and lend me your ears
THERE AIN'T NO SANTA CLAUS!
Your mom and dad work so hard
they pay for Christmas on a credit card
so under your tree you will see
gifts a plenty for sweet little thee
Santa Claus a marketing scheme
to fill little heads with sugar plum dreams
and cry and whine for toys galore
tis the season for wanting more
A fat jolly elf dressed in Coca Cola red
with all the Kris Kringle stories you are fed
By commercials movies and TV shows
the legend of the fat man forever grows
Three wise men gave gifts to a baby in a manager
Wall Street tycoons guilt you into giving money to strangers
Sale Sale Sale let the holiday ring
Profits Profits overflow cling cling cling
The stress of a happy holiday
means after New Years your parents slave away
to pay for bills of gifts now forgotten
by spoiling you brats stinky rotten
Dear little children before you demand
gifts and candies of a winter wonderland
please be grateful for all you have and understand
THERE AIN'T NO SANTA CLAUS!!!
Merry Christmas, Jesus loves you.
A Paiute baptised, "Minnie Moons"
Was the thrill of Phoenix tycoons
At Sun City Dunes
With Silver Spoon Prunes
They loved pornographic cartoons
Even the most powerful fall in the end
No matter the prestige they fall like all men
Tycoons with fortune
Lowly street urchins
No one is immune, time does not bend
This sudden warped concern for ampule,
the cruel force of world dictators,
these psychological taunt of the media,
Nescient chemists controlling our minds,
tycoons uttering lies in egoistic motives,
these pretentious drama of publicized jabs,
enhancing their personal ambition to rule,
these old prime ministers at the precipice,
unwilling to retire for greed,
frightened by the plague concocted in Wuhan,
confusing my will by their own fears.
conspirators accusing me of conspiracy,
invoking laws on their medium,
censoring opposing opinion,
These organized crimes against my will,
A cooked up opium rushed out of laboratory,
compelling a Police state devoid of volition,
mRNA coated codes, their Greek gift to save the world,
the same world they pass by in pain,
these tyrants suddenly more catholic than the Pope,
or civil than a civilian,
Liberty at the mercy of potentate,
silence all demanding,
The hysteria unending,
my trust for their kindness is zero.
Update of "A Litany in Time of Plague"
by Michael R. Burch
THE PLAGUE has come again
To darken lives of men
and women, girls and boys;
Death proves their bodies toys
Too frail to even cry.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!
Tycoons, what use is wealth?
You cannot buy good health!
Physicians cannot heal
Themselves, to Death must kneel.
Nuns’ prayers mount to the sky.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!
Beauty’s brightest flower?
Devoured in an hour.
Kings, Queens and Presidents
Are fearful residents
Of manors boarded high.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!
We have no means to save
Our children from the grave.
Though cure-alls line our shelves,
We cannot save ourselves.
"Come, come!" the sad bells cry.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!
Ah, sweet slumber of nip-laden dreams;
the milk of mother moon bestowed,
a blessed drink and lactose-free
to this mine humble, feline throat.
Running freely through outer space,
I touch upon thy blessed universe.
My home of emerald and lapis lace,
is where in I lay in furred repose.
Chasing neon rainbows in nebulae bright,
my dreams are filled with gold doubloons.
I’ll spend them on treats and nip-delight,
and chase away any greedy tycoons.
A feline black as obsidian night,
in a home filled with human love;
among the faeries and tree sprites,
mind flies just like the doves.
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