"economist" poems
Born like a kid,
Believed like a child,
Thought like a philosopher,
Depressed like a prisoner,
Felt like a sinner,
Hated like a lawyer,
Ate like a veterinarian,
Lied like a politician,
Read like a historian,
Saw like a physician,
Slept like a pharmacist,
Smelt like a scientist,
Spoke like a priest,
Heard like an economist,
Loved like a counselor,
Tasted like a rich bachelor,
Worked like a tool,
Cheated like a fool,
Walked like a diplomat,
And died like a cat.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 12:29 PM UTC
I have a dream! I have a dream,
To the racial discriminators, said Martin Luther King,
I have a dream! I have a dream!
To the evil-creating economists, I warn and ring.
Globe witness hunger, inequality poverty and unemployment
The world turns out to be bitter,
To all of you, I write this letter.
To create a world relieved from these and turn better.
I am a mad aspiring economist, a fool,
Searching for the right tool,
You turned the world with full of mess,
People are left with nothing less.
To the world, you gave theories,
Pushed us into a vicious cycle of injuries,
About your theories, you boasted,
It has created a few ruling and bloated.
Most of you worked as economic hitmen,
Turned victim laymen to fighting gunmen.
To the realities, your theory is distant,
Served no solution to the dying peasants,
To the few, we remain a psychological slave and servants,
Tuned our lives to a depended migrant.
With your development lecture,
You have killed the entire nature,
In the name of ventures, corporates turned vulture,
Hunted and looted our generations’ future.
We lived a self-reliant community,
You killed us with imposed liability,
Our lives are now placed in intensive casualty,
The word that remains imagination still is equality.
We lost our humanity and identity,
In your eyes, we are just a market and commodity,
Your play with scarcity, was a mere futility,
We finally became a society, filled with atrocity.
Your useless lectures of development,
Put us under frightening & irrecoverable unemployment,
For a few, you got us into a deep-rooted enslavement,
So, now for you instead, we make a replacement.
To my questions, you neglected and ran,
In your eyes, I am foolish stupid common man,
To you short-sighted range,
I say I will bring in a change!
Today, I may remain lower and mere viewer,
A day will come, where you will stand to answer,
Writing a new rule, I would seize your beloved positions,
This will be my lifetime mission and ambition.
I say with all my limited experience,
I will put a test to all your conscience,
Are you just a fat-big corporate’s hand?
With people will you always stand?
I am not an economist,
I am neither an egotist,
I proclaim! I proclaim!
I am a revolutionary economist,
I know you will fit me a label,
I am sure I will be an economic rebel,
A rebellious economist.
I dream a world without huge inequalities,
I dream a world free from imposed liabilities,
I dream a world without poverty and disparities,
I finally dream for becoming an economist with no ambiguities.
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 7:43 AM UTC
We used to play billiards
and fight all the fire.
We'd drink tea
from cheap mugs,
read The Economist
or newspaper,
chat about boyfriends,
girlfriends,
what was and wasn't a rumour?
The printer munched on paper,
lounge about on scratchy chairs.
50% revision, 50% laughter.
Psychology was me
with a group of girls.
How many people, where, when,
and what was it Freud said again?
Spanish was the same,
me, L, C and E.
Picasso's view of war, a bull and a flower,
grammar overload in the afternoon.
And then there was English.
Can you hear me Fitzgerald?
On a row of females (not just one),
roses, four stories and a single trumpet.
On the garish bus
to see the Manor or the specialists,
to walk up and down aisles in Asda,
talking music with baguettes and meatballs.
Two years came, two years went.
Exams, goodbyes, brown envelopes arrived.
After tapas and a holiday
came sly September.
Here I was with fresh men,
different faces from different places.
So I walked up the steps
into the next avenue.
Apr 20, 2012
Apr 20, 2012 at 3:14 PM UTC
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Mar 13, 2012
Mar 13, 2012 at 6:43 AM UTC
TELL TALE TALK
Shark's tooth
draws blood
( even though long dead )
a startled red
against the sharp whiteness
lost in a bric-a-brac
box of shells & things.
"Gotcha!"
grins the dead
shark's set of
choppers.
Baby shark
but a shark nonetheless.
I drip a trail
of red
across the Charity
shop
snap up
a tattered HUNTING OF THE SNARK
a battered
AT SWIM TWO BIRDS.
Here
a broken ballerina
on a jewellery box
( minus her music )
there
( I stop dead )
a used
soul
bruised
badly used
Godless
without guile
my fingertip traces my initials
on its dust
tarnished
without hope
immortal and unnoticed
amongst shark's teeth & shells.
I get
a SNARK & TWO BIRDS
for a pound
a piece.
The shark's grin
for a pound again.
"What do you want
for this old thing?"
I nonchalantly
ask
setting the soul
with great care
within the cage
of teeth
perched atop
the books.
"Being dying
to get rid
of that
for ages."
"It just sits there
staring at me!"
"Scares the life
outta me
to tell you
the truth
even though I don't know
what the hell it is!"
"Give us 42p for it
& we'll call it quits!"
I buy back
the soul
( my soul )
I had given away
with some old shirts and shoes
things I thought
I wouldn't ever be needing
. . .again.
But seeing it
discarded amongst shark's teeth & shells
I thought
twice about it.
Maybe
( perhaps )
I can use
it
for a paperweight.
Or a doorstop.
Sedulous
PRONUNCIATION:
(SEJ-uh-luhs)
MEANING:
adjective: Involving great care, effort, and persistence.
ETYMOLOGY:
From Latin se (without) + dolus (trickery, guile). Ultimately from the Indo-European root del- (to count or recount) that is also the source of tell, tale, talk, Aug 9, 2010
A THOUGHT FOR TODAY:
Poetry is the art of saying what you mean but disguising it. -Diane Wakoski, poet (b. 1937) and Dutch taal (speech, language).
USAGE:
"Elizabeth Bishop was sedulous, pernickety, quietly determined; she would work on poems for years."Elizabeth Bishop and Robert Lowell; The Economist (London, UK); Nov 20, 2008.
A THOUGHT FOR TODAY:
<strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><p>A beautiful thing is never perfect. -Egyptian proverb</p></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong>
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 4:25 PM UTC
Postman
and poet?
love letters in mail
Accountant
and poet?
precision, detail
Archeologist
and poet?
sifting for feelings
Electrician
and poet?
a jolt
leaving one reeling
architect
and poet?
drafting with words
Zookeeper
and poet?
singing of birds
Bus driver
and poet?
observing life's roadways
Minister
and poet?
perhaps how he prays
Lawyer
and poet?
though about win or lose
her poetry just might amuse
Economist
and poet?
Aren't we all that?
though we wear different hats
distilling things downwards
saving on words
whoever you are
whatever you choose
listen, observe
welcome your Muse!
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 10:03 AM UTC
i dont really know what im interested in,
but right now my interest's in you.
right now the only ambition i have
is to hold boomboxes outside your window.
and that sentiment was cute when i was 15,
skipping gym class to spend
some more time as a friend,
but as of right now, i should have a drive
towards something more responsible,
than the feel of your cheek
against mine.
i have no clue what im capable of,
but how can any feat compare,
to the brilliant warmth that is
found in those eyes
when one of these jumbles of words
makes you smile?
or better yet, laugh?
these curls, these crunches, these chinos, these white strips,
these copies of The Economist and the New York Times,
are all in attempt to make sure that the glow
that emits from those pores remains visible.
health is a clever cover-up, without the motivation,
i'd listen to The Smiths for just the melodies,
and help myself to another portion (of bacon).
right now, the only reason i'm writing this down,
is i hear that chicks dig poetry,
they're constructed in this way to feign substance,
so that you might associate substance with me,
and when i go on stage to perform these words,
it's in hopes that you'd hear them,
or at least hear that i'm a "slam poet".
these moments of knowing and not-knowing,
make this life worthwhile
and honestly i feel like that's f*cked up,
but i'd rather the question be,
one where you're the answer,
than one where you're not a factor.
Sep 24, 2011
Sep 24, 2011 at 2:28 AM UTC
Affection was her invisible hand gliding
down your back to map the gradient
of your spine. Love was letting
that unseen force replace intimacy.
She loved precisely
where demand met supply.
Razor-thin efficiency.
She reciprocated coffee for coffee,
love for love. No shortage
but no extra either.
She gave unconditionally
but only when all else had remained constant.
(We built everything on assumptions.)
But what was constant was never enough and
She'd explain it
away with your infinite wants and her finite self.
She made all the choices,
administered love like an economist
and made you her next best opportunity
Forgone.
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 12:57 PM UTC
What if I told you that your god is dead?
that supply and demand, economic forces
we trust more than the laws of physics
are not supplemented by a caring, Invisible hand?
That the holy scriptures, thin, green pages
in between the folds of a wallet
are no more valueable than this gum wrapper
blowing in the wind
Unless we all BELIEVE otherwise
Adam Smith said
"Many will enter, but few will win" -cite
What will give you a sense of purpose
or security when you try to sleep at night?
Everyone hope in the American Dream!
a capitalistic kushion to save you in your time of need
made of vapor to catch you when the stocks are falling
its appalling this heaven of prosperity
that depends on consuming more and more of the earth
Listen to The Economist's sermon
Watch how he reads the tea leaves
Will the Fed raise the interest rates this year?
We throw the dice and say our prayers.
All things work together for good
For those who love it.
Welcome to the worship of Mammon.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 8:41 PM UTC
You think you know me?
Yes, you claim you know who I am.
Yet you do not know who I was.
I was the thief, aged seven, that nearly got away.
I was the reader, aged ten, indulging in George Orwell.
I was the match-maker, aged twelve, bonding hearts across wires.
I was the insane, aged thirteen, seeing death as a new beginning.
I was the hacker, aged fourteen, learning how to navigate Windows in Spanish.
I was the con-artist, aged fifteen, making thousands.
I was the economist, aged sixteen, dabbling in foreign exchange.
I was the romantic, aged seventeen, thinking my life was set in stone.
I was the student, aged eighteen, learning to live on my own.
And I was the lost, aged nineteen, on the brink of existence.
Now I'm the searcher, aged twenty, finding new meaning to life every day.
Looking through rose-tinted glasses.
Learning to love and be loved.
Not for who I was,
But who I am.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC
It is a slow but fast shadow
This thing they call, I think exams
The shadow starts
With the rising of a new year
And sets when least expected
Sets on all its subjects
Creating a feeling of terror
That in the meantime
There will be no sunshine
This shadow.
The dark sets in
I have to balance the accounts
And quote Hyde vs. Hyde
The first day
And the darkness still prevails
I expect sun next
But am supposed now
To assume the boring role
Of the Kenya revenue Authority
This shadow
The economist, the auditor
They can make businesses
But what can they do about
The much I have to do?
To determine the marginal cost
Whatever that is
This shadow.
Jun 23, 2012
Jun 23, 2012 at 5:16 AM UTC
Don't bother looking at me.
I'm just the old man who missed his stop.
I've obviously made a mistake,
because, after all,
who knows more of human purpose
than the economist?
Those of us not wise enough to step off the train
just sit around waiting, don't we?
Take a minute to look at the vastness you're ignoring, you small-minded ****
Feb 24, 2012
Feb 24, 2012 at 6:13 PM UTC
A highly respected economist
Was in search of recessions’ real Genesis.
He said, “Grow the economy
Right through Deuteronomy,
But Numbers is truly our Nemesis!”
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 11:16 AM UTC
Benjamin Franklin’s theory of money spent
But I can’t figure out where my money went
Franklin’s way of a penny saved is a penny earned
Yet there is so much to learn
However our current economy way, “Make it the best way you know how”
Someone could really argue at the economy
But wallet you must behave
Credit cards there should be no crave
Penny’s that do add up
The idea is how to save so you don’t get fed up
But how does one keep up
SAVE, SAVE AND SAVE
But it is up to the individual spender being the wise economist
It does take someone to be a scientist
It is all those calculating dollars
A lightening charge with an idea
Planning is how you will preserver
Take it from Benjamin Franklin who knew back then
If you think on your actual cash flow, this puts you in the know
The floor plan was Benjamin Franklin’s presentation show.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 8:30 AM UTC
When will we ever learn
Not to love with ALL our heart
I suppose it just means
I'm a bad economist.
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 1:36 PM UTC
Someday, we will have a picnic together under the summer sun like normal people
With grass so green and music so alive and your Hawaiian shirt so loud
Someday, we will go on those Sunday dates
Where people have brunch and mimosa at 11am
Spend the whole afternoon laughing with friends
Like normal people do
Someday ,we will have a quick lunch date
When we both become somebody we want to be.
But we won't have salad like most people do.
Someday,we will cuddle all night long after work
You will read the Economist while I hum a song.
But we are not a normal pair
I don't want anything special
I just need to be mediocre with you
And be like other people
Someday,this will happen when you come back from China
I miss you loads
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 1:33 AM UTC
Innermost thoughtful verbosity, desire lost philosophy, misery phase cloudy darken days eternity pollinate sorrows validate emotional tormented hours. Time over lived Soul never paid ****** tolls. Antisyzygies, mystery, history never sold failures unfold. Always talked of ups and downs, the round and rounds, Voices tuned In and out of sound. Those who you love are those you keep around. Bound to hit the ground **** bound to have no out of bounds. Please pronounce specific reasons and keyed seasons why rhinoceros differ from clowns. Who your eternally meant to be, is your desire gracefully. Patiently speaking are those who embrace harden or weaken? Are those who loss haste starving or feeding, harvesting or greeting? you choose to pardon your heathens and I choose to marching and teaching. County blues never told proudfull news. Sometimes what she got to do, is what she's got to do. I tip my hats off to all of you. No *** for tat when played a fool. If you can't be used then your useless, so it looks like we're all the tools. Mustn't be a difficult one to use, So bounce the ball, hop the wall and come back to rule And if you listen to my decisions, you'll learn to speak into your own existence. Your the maker of your dreamful visions or the maker of the bars which old your prison. How's that for tonight's lesson? Doesn't that sounds like a blessing? Indeed so good night you-all and keep on guessing. Because I plant the seed and it's not one of greed, but of needs not to be questioned. Understood essence.
Jul 13, 2022
Jul 13, 2022 at 2:50 AM UTC
"These days you are not at home, Somu,
The rooms seem blackened like a dying dumb ghost,
dead and deaf like an ageless planet, you see.
The walls breathe silence,
like flowers which bend with the rain,
And, I twist and age with time like grapes of wrath.
Dear somu, I saw you in the photo, on Facebook dear boy,
To be honest you have become fat, like your mother when she was six,
Eat less cheese and burgers and cream, to fix these things,
Try veggies and salads to make you look thin.
I am storing up some money, this year,
To send you some sweets,
During puja, we had fried chicken and fish kebabs and rolls,
I made it as you liked it, a bit saucy with corn flour and chickpeas and all,
Next time when you come, I would make it again"
Read the letter,
Signed, Your grandma Mini.
Somu, as known as Somnath at his college, MIT to be honest you see.
A good student and an economist to be soon,
Somu is told to be the young Stiglitz,
Who gets a bit sentimental at certain gloomy afternoons.
But this letter came to him last Monday, at work,
He couldn't read it properly as being busy is the way to look more and a bit more, tough and sharp.
And as he came home today at nine,
Like whiskey and lemon and contradictions which never seem to rhyme-
came another Telephone at around ten,
Informing the youngster about the death of one of his grandparents.
"This is Baba, Your Mini is no more,
Today at six, we found her collapsed at and over the toilet floor,
Come home as soon as you can..."
And He was Still holding the letter,
helplessly within the shivering thrills of his cold and goofy tired hands.
It was 11 at night and he was reading the letter once more,
He was all but telling to himself-"this must be a dream to be sure..."
He was thinking about so many things at a pace,
And he felt about the world that he brought his Mini some disgrace.
Oct 13, 2017
Oct 13, 2017 at 3:45 PM UTC