"millionaire" poems
Gatsby, Gatsby, oh you protagonist young man;
To work for a millionaire and be a soldier.
To do criminal activity just for a single girl
Who once did love you but never will again.
With all your fabulous wealth and fame;
In that mansion you live in filled with Goth
Having lavishing parties on late Saturday nights;
Not to mingle but to look, to look for her.
Living in the West Egg with a distant view
Of a lake in front to separate you and your love.
Only a light of green to comfort your loneliness;
With a friend as your only connection to them.
You are the mysterious type of man that you are.
A person whom no one knows where he is from,
What he does in life or how he makes his fortune.
But in reality you are from a farm in North Dakota.
You are also a flawed, dishonest, and ****** man;
Lie about your past and the name that people know.
Left your farm life at age 17 to change who you were;
Forgot your name as Jimmy Gatz to become Jay Gatsby.
Jay Gatsby, Jimmy Gatz, you did this for your love;
For the love you had for Miss Daisy Buchanan, for her.
As a man, you were known to be extraordinary optimism;
For you were determine to take your dream and make it a reality.
The dream that you had of only you and her.
A dream that was too far from reality;
So far that it blinded you from true reality.
This dream is what brought death upon you.
For Jay Gatsby and Jimmy Gatz are one and the same.
Both blinded by love for Miss Daisy Buchanan.
Both determine to change their social status
Both dreamt a dream that would not come true.
But yet both denied the truth of themselves.
For this brought the death and the heartache
Of a father who knew so little of his only son.
For a friend who truly knew nothing of him at all.
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 3:49 PM UTC
I want you to hold my hand.
Hold my hand so tight that my bones break and every crack whispers how much you really need me. The space between my fingers should forget what it's like to be empty because you'll fix each and every crease. Light a fire in my palms and melt away any other touch other than your own.
I desire you.
I am something worth destroying. Can't you see that I would rather be a pile of broken floorboards and shattered glass than an abandoned house, having never been touched by you? Burn your name across my body and tattoo it onto my heart so I understand what it means to love with a passion.
I want to thank you.
You've made minutes feel like decades by holding me until my internal clock shattered and the only perception I had of time was the beating of your heart. You turned words I was too afraid to speak into currency and now I am a millionaire with nothing to show for it except your smile. You filled my eyes with stars and heart with assurance so when pieces of me died I still had something left to believe in. You never gave up on me when everyone else did.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 9:11 PM UTC
A great man gave this to me
advice from the lips of a father
like a father
but not my father
but like him
if he were a self-made millionaire
with advice to give
that this self-made business owner
ought to pay some heed to
and so it went,
"By yourself,
darkness can overcome you.
You can't do it all alone.
But we're here with you,
all of us, that's what we do.
If you don't succeed
we didn't succeed in teaching you."
So like a parent
concerned with the fate of a child
telling us to be stronger than we feel
braver than we have known
and to follow that great gleaming WHY
the WHY we do what we do
the WHY we are in this room
with a new father
teaching us all the principles
To every day improve
to control our emotions
to live in peace
that we are all accepted
for who we are
and that we are complete
within ourselves
that we must all serve others
before we can succeed ourselves
to never let fear in
and know we are truly blessed
and above all
that integrity means more
than all the affirmations in the world.
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 10:05 AM UTC
299
Your Riches—taught me—Poverty.
Myself—a Millionaire
In little Wealths, as Girls could boast
Till broad as Buenos Ayre—
You drifted your Dominions—
A Different Peru—
And I esteemed All Poverty
For Life’s Estate with you—
Of Mines, I little know—myself—
But just the names, of Gems—
The Colors of the Commonest—
And scarce of Diadems—
So much, that did I meet the Queen—
Her Glory I should know—
But this, must be a different Wealth—
To miss it—beggars so—
I’m sure ’tis India—all Day—
To those who look on You—
Without a stint—without a blame,
Might I—but be the Jew—
I’m sure it is Golconda—
Beyond my power to deem—
To have a smile for Mine—each Day,
How better, than a Gem!
At least, it solaces to know
That there exists—a Gold—
Altho’ I prove it, just in time
Its distance—to behold—
Its far—far Treasure to surmise—
And estimate the Pearl—
That slipped my simple fingers through—
While just a Girl at School.
5.2k
I only have one request: Please ask the boys to “audition” in front of the two way mirror and read the phrase “All her nibbly bits. All of them.”
I will know which one is just right.
I’ll see them all at 5 o’clock, 6 if there is traffic.
Thanks!
S*kelly ’14
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC
THE LAST LOVE LETTER OF TCHAIKOVSKY*
My angel, life of my life
Fate would never allow me to meet thee
Only in thy letters to me
Do I feel the touch of love’s ecstasy.
Would but that upon thy sweet face
I would just once behold
All my sixth symphonies I would gladly exchange
In love’s name and in its wondrous beauty untold.
Here with all my rapturous kisses
I send thee the music of ‘Love’s Sorrow’
Every note swims in the sea of my restless heart
None would such grievous pain of mine ever know.
Let history judge
All that is between thee and me
Even the deluge that drowns the whole world
Would never obliterate every melody I dedicate to thee.
• Tchaikovsky’s benefactress was Madame Von Meck (Nadezhda) who exchanged 260 love- letters (1876—1887)with him and endowed him with a regular income on the understanding that they should never meet.
Her late husband was a millionaire whose fortune was derived from his railway business.
Finally, she broke up the relationship leaving the composer in complete devastation.
This is one of the most poignant love-stories of all time.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 4:04 AM UTC
People with money amazes you.
The way they seems to concern about the peoople.
Or do they?
A rich executive tries to dictate your vote.
As , if they trying to black mail you.
With the things they say.
And explain what they will do?
If the candidate they support should lose.
People with wealth.
Amazes the poor.
Who realize some of them doesn't care at all.
They have their foundation.
And donate to many causes.
But when push comes to shove.
Then you really witness their love.
Cause to support their life style.
They needs to find ways to survive.
Many lose their money in divorces many times.
And blame it upon other factors.
When saving their money was all they were after.
Firing a few to do it.
Fit them well.
But using politics as a scheme.
Is a different tale.
But it's the world of a millionaire businessman.
Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 10:09 PM UTC
THIS is what love is.
banana bubblegum and magnetic poetry
the crickets on my front porch at three in the morning
making origami cranes out of butcher paper
even when I forget whether it's mountain fold or
valley fold and my crane turns out looking like a
seamonkey in a blender
wildflowers!
striped button-down shirts and plastic dinosaurs
singing Juanes at the top of our lungs
(Gah, you know
I can't speak Spanish.)
laughing at the serious parts in movies
having the patience for when
the words don't come out
and I have to stop
and think
(for a very long time)
and half the time it doesn't make sense anyway.
impromptu dance sessions on the side of the road
doors flung open, radio up
chocolate chip pancakes
out-of-town adventures
mailboxes. LOTS.
balcony raves with lots of glowsticks
and let me borrow that top!
just letting me sleeeeeeep
the smell of new pointe shoes
of New Orleans
of bluebonnets
telling me when I look awful (please)
making me eat things that I don't like
SNUGGLEBUNNY TIME
drive-thru people who hate our guts
That's What She Said's.
praising Buddha naked
dysfunctional kites
paying in change at Chicken Express
late night phone conversations
when I sound drunk
(but I'm not,
I'm tired. I just would rather
talk to you
than sleep.)
silence.
cupcakes, uniform closets
not shaving our legs in the winter
shadow puppets, rap songs,
Slumdog Millionaire
making once-in-a-lifetime faces
looks that speak oceans
pecan pralines and symphony orchestras you'll
never play with again but for that night
you're family
and you'll never forget it.
matches (aren't always for candles)
thousands upon thousands of candids
and the not-so-candids
saving kisses in your pocket for later
Neverland, Disneyland, cats
yellow dresses and stage make-up
watermelon Jolly Ranchers
saying my name like it's wrapped in blankets
and knowing that
even though I don't say it
as much as I should:
I do.
Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 1:51 PM UTC
I know what I am,
I know who I am,
But I am not sure who I am,
Or what I am,
They call me Black,
I do not know if I am Black,
They call me African,
But am I African,
Where these names came from,
I wonder,
Maybe they are just nicknames,
Yes,
Fom those historical enermies who were up to degrade me,
I do not know who I am,
But I know for sure I'm just a poor millionaire,
Poor in Western materialistic classification,
I know I am Umuntu,
A millionaire Umuntu,
Rich in Ubuntu,
But that's not all,
I'm in search of my identity,
I need to know who the hell I am,
For I am black and African,
But I'm neither Black
Nor African.
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 8:01 AM UTC
Tomb of a millionaire,
A multi-millionaire, ladies and gentlemen,
Place of the dead where they spend every year
The usury of twenty-five thousand dollars
For upkeep and flowers
To keep fresh the memory of the dead.
The merchant prince gone to dust
Commanded in his written will
Over the signed name of his last testament
Twenty-five thousand dollars be set aside
For roses, lilacs, hydrangeas, tulips,
For perfume and color, sweetness of remembrance
Around his last long home.
(A hundred cash girls want nickels to go to the movies to-night.
In the back stalls of a hundred saloons, women are at tables
Drinking with men or waiting for men jingling loose
silver dollars in their pockets.
In a hundred furnished rooms is a girl who sells silk or
dress goods or leather stuff for six dollars a week wages
And when she pulls on her stockings in the morning she
is reckless about God and the newspapers and the
police, the talk of her home town or the name
people call her.)
2.6k
Passion drives us to great heights and achievements
The passion drawn from the ****** position
The will to survive to take our first breath, to know life
The passion that lingers and stills the heart for a moment
To stand and stare at the passing wild flower
Passion shared by two in the throes of ****** hunger
That connects and binds and twines beings into one
Passion so felt within a heart
will make a simple person extraordinary
Passion to live beyond, just over the line
Taking risks, taking chances
Passion to love, to live, to dance, to eat, to laugh, to cry, to feel
Passion makes the difference
Between the millionaire and the pauper
Passion – everyone has it
It’s whether you want to use it or save it for later!
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 4:46 AM UTC
Your smile is worth the
prize in a lottery, so
I’m a millionaire.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 7:54 AM UTC
little red rose
your colour only exists in my brain
I'm afraid
the green in the grass and the trees
don't belong to them
belong to me
and you sky
do you think you're beautiful with that blue?
that's all in me not in you
I do feel like a millionaire
since the 1 million colours I see
it's something I can't share
'cause they're not really there
they exist in me
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
He's New York penthouse
and I'm small town trailer park.
Kinda worried my blue collar might
stain the white one he wears so well...
But he likes the way my perfume smells
(I don't tell him it's from Walmart)
when it lingers on his pillows
and I like the way his sweaters fit me
(my favorite's his from college).
He holds my hand in public
and folds my clothes after ***
I hide under the blankets
as he gets ready for work.
He's New York penthouse
and I'm small town trailer park
but he tells me I'm just what he needs.
So maybe I'll leave my toothbrush in his bathroom
and a dress in his closet,
maybe get comfy (or frisky) on the couch,
maybe I'll let him say "we" a few times,
I might even try it out,
We
Us
maybe add some future words,
Will
Should
Next summer
Next Christmas.
He's New York penthouse
and I'm small town trailer park
but We
say, "I love you"
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 5:33 PM UTC
A plant grew in a forest
beginning as a sapling in a crowded opening
two inches tall
with no idea of what it was becoming
it rose slowly
but consistently
as others rose above it for light
it reaped the benefits of leftovers
this plant grew
not to be the tallest
not to be the prettiest
but it grew
It took in carbon dioxide
and released oxygen
it did its job
it was a good plant
eventually like most things this plant died
after being trampled by a young boy
this boy visited this forest everyday
its nature was his greatest toy
he knew the surroundings by heart
from the tallest tree to the smallest shrew
he saw all in his dreams
he knew all the plants save for a few
one of those few was our plant
although it stood tall, it was not tall enough
although it was pretty, it was not pretty enough
it died unremarkable
it was a good plant
it did its job
but it died without a trace
because it never risked to take another's place
and so the boy grew older
he left the forest for an office
in the hopes that one day
he’d be rich enough to return
so he climbed the ladder
and said all the right things
he was a good man
he did his job
until he met a girl
a girl so powerful
so unmistakably perfect
he had to rise above the others
he left his job because he hated it
he stood tall to reach the sun
he took risks not because he had to
but because he wanted to
this man died poor
he did not succeed
there was no beverly hills
no millionaire mansion down the street
this man never climbed that corporate ladder
never got lost in the rat race
never missed the birth of his son
never broke a promise to that boy
he took a risk he shouldn’t have
an unnecessary leap of faith
he looked back on his past
the trouble he left in his wake
he remembered that plant
the one he didn’t see
the reason he is who he is
the man who became a tree
take risks because you should
because one day you will die
buried under dirt
while your life has passed you by
life is too short
too precious
to be a good man
to just do your job
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 9:29 PM UTC
I drank musty ale at the Illinois Athletic Club with
the millionaire manufacturer of Green River butter
one night
And his face had the shining light of an old-time Quaker,
he spoke of a beautiful daughter, and I knew he had
a peace and a happiness up his sleeve somewhere.
Then I heard Jim Kirch make a speech to the Advertising
Association on the trade resources of South America.
And the way he lighted a three-for-a-nickel stogie and
cocked it at an angle regardless of the manners of
our best people,
I knew he had a clutch on a real happiness even though
some of the reporters on his newspaper say he is
the living double of Jack London's Sea Wolf.
In the mayor's office the mayor himself told me he was
happy though it is a hard job to satisfy all the office-
seekers and eat all the dinners he is asked to eat.
Down in Gilpin Place, near Hull House, was a man with
his jaw wrapped for a bad toothache,
And he had it all over the butter millionaire, Jim Kirch
and the mayor when it came to happiness.
He is a maker of accordions and guitars and not only
makes them from start to finish, but plays them
after he makes them.
And he had a guitar of mahogany with a walnut bottom
he offered for seven dollars and a half if I wanted it,
And another just like it, only smaller, for six dollars,
though he never mentioned the price till I asked him,
And he stated the price in a sorry way, as though the
music and the make of an instrument count for a
million times more than the price in money.
I thought he had a real soul and knew a lot about God.
There was light in his eyes of one who has conquered
sorrow in so far as sorrow is conquerable or worth
conquering.
Anyway he is the only Chicago citizen I was jealous of
that day.
He played a dance they play in some parts of Italy
when the harvest of grapes is over and the wine
presses are ready for work.
2.3k
To Certain Poets About to Die
Take your fill of intimate remorse, perfumed sorrow,
Over the dead child of a millionaire,
And the pity of Death refusing any check on the bank
Which the millionaire might order his secretary to
scratch off
And get cashed.
Very well,
You for your grief and I for mine.
Let me have a sorrow my own if I want to.
I shall cry over the dead child of a stockyards hunky.
His job is sweeping blood off the floor.
He gets a dollar seventy cents a day when he works
And it's many tubs of blood he shoves out with a broom
day by day.
Now his three year old daughter
Is in a white coffin that cost him a week's wages.
Every Saturday night he will pay the undertaker fifty
cents till the debt is wiped out.
The hunky and his wife and the kids
Cry over the pinched face almost at peace in the white box.
They remember it was scrawny and ran up high doctor bills.
They are glad it is gone for the rest of the family now
will have more to eat and wear.
Yet before the majesty of Death they cry around the coffin
And wipe their eyes with red bandanas and sob when
the priest says, "God have mercy on us all."
I have a right to feel my throat choke about this.
You take your grief and I mine--see?
To-morrow there is no funeral and the hunky goes back
to his job sweeping blood off the floor at a dollar
seventy cents a day.
All he does all day long is keep on shoving hog blood
ahead of him with a broom.
2.3k
I Solemnly Swear
No else would ever come close or ever compare.
To your unconditional Tender love and care.
Unaware that my hearts under repair.
Im Mentally Gone but Physically There.
Could this be a Secret love affair?
Can't you sense the attraction in the atmosphere?
maybe its in the confidence that you wear?
Because Out of the corner of my eye
One day you caught me by suprise
I think you could be my angel in disguise
All in my feelings, you Got me over here mesmorized.
The Presences of this King was Strong and So bold.
With Such beauty my vision could barely behold.
Truth Be Told,
You precious to Me, more valuable than Gold.
From that moment on I knew you already had my heart sold.
Something intrigues me to you.
Is it because you are Respectful, Honest, and True?
Maybe its in reference to the little things you do.
You are Something so Extraordinaire
Hard to come, So Exquisite and rare.
Even when I'm broke you got me feeling like a multi millionaire.
You give me butterflies.
Got me floating like the clouds above in blue skies.
Having vision about you and I
Becoming as One and Unify.
You as my King and Me as Your Queen.
You are the drug and Im the Fein.
I need you so bad I could scream
You are surreal to me like a dream.
You set my heart on fire.
With a passionate buring for desire.
My Confession is I sit here secretly watching you and Admire.
Sincerely Your
Secret Admirer.
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 1:35 AM UTC
Please handle with care the man sat in the chair
he's not a millionaire, but priceless to me.
He's not a Saint, he's made mistakes,
he's as stubborn as they come, cantankerous and moody,
but while he's there in your care, please bear in mind,
though, grouchy, argumentative and he's driving you to despair,
he's mine and my siblings dad, he's a husband, a grandfather, brother,
uncle, nephew and once himself a son.
Yes, he's been bad.
Yes, we've made him sad.
Yes, he's a flirt (that's for Mam).
Yes, we're aware of his faults, that makes him human, but, he's ours, and we'd like to be selfish and keep the moody, grouchy,
cantankerous old man a little longer.
So, please just handle him with care.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 7:43 AM UTC
Oh, America….
how can you be enthralled with Trump
dumping on Mexicans and insulting the handicapped
hair piece flapping in the wind
almost as much as his gums –
dumb hicks with ****** chicks
lick ***** of donkey
if they vote that fool
El Prez
and give him the keys
to the nuclear arsenal –
my minds reels at the possibilities
********* ball-licking ***** face
at the seat of power
offering the impoverished
cake
or worst
nothing but catch phrases and clichés
intending on inspiring the masses
elevate themselves to a similar status
of ‘The Donald’ –
not all of us have mob ties
and millionaire family members
not that many Americans
can support a failing casino
or be the star of a television show
most of us
are just people trying to make the best
of an increasingly ****** up situation
made exponentially worse
by this ******** real chance
at becoming the leader
of the free world –
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
Dear Science and Math,
I pray to you because you are what I believe in. Today is the midterm elections for 2018, and boy are we in a mess. Evolution, I would like to apologize that we have devolved as a society to allow our government to function as a really terrible sitcom. Economics and Statistics, I feel your heavy gaze as we still have 2 more years before we hopefully take the bankrupt millionaire out of office. Every day we live under a system whose poster child mocks its citizens and strips the majority of their rights. Their rights to Medical Care, a healthy and functioning Environment, and a Financial System which can support the majority, not just the top 1%.
Today I did my part. I practiced my right . . . no my privilege to vote. Too many people chose not to vote. I didn't vote for the last 6 year because I felt I was uneducated in the topic. I felt I was flying blind, something I could have taken 15 minutes to change. If I were a citizen of Georgia I would have lost this privilege, because of 5 years of voting inactivity. If I were of Hispanic descent I would most likely have had to jump through excessive hoops because of a hyphenated last name. There are so many people who don't want to vote because they fear jury duty, or they don't want to wait in line, or they don't want to make time to vote, or they are just plain convinced the system is rigged and their opinion doesn't matter. Let me tell you something, your ballot only "doesn't matter" if you don't hand one in. In fact, it is probably working against the team you would have voted for.
I am a woman, which mean only in the past 100 years was my second X chromosome "granted" this privilege. There are still grandparents alive today who remember when, specifically, black people could not vote. There are also plenty of other cases of this "right" being restricted from huge groups of people because of, in reality, what makes them unique.
So, I sit here today Science an Math, praying to you that my little corner of the United States may become a better place for ALL of its inhabitants.
Please let the scales tip in the favor of justice.
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 10:15 AM UTC
I aint no millionaire
I aint got much cash
but I've got plenty of passion
in my stash
open my treasure chest
and you'll see the gems within
they'll enliven
every pore of your skin
so baby
what are you waiting for
I've a store
of fervor to pour
I aint no millionaire
I aint got much cash
but I've got plenty of passion
in my stash
the flames of my fire
will heat your pyre
with an eager
ration of desire
we'll create
a febrile interface
wont that be
one heck of a place
I aint no millionaire
I aint got much cash
but I've got plenty of passion
in my stash
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 1:28 AM UTC