"moguls" poems
The right winter
for dope and ice
for walks along the river route
home
The right winter
for arctic pin-prick wind
holes in boots
turquoise dress coat
far too thin
for walks along the river
But The Merrimack couldn’t find her way
when fabric moguls migrated south
Fascinated by nylon nasties
they traded their silks and cottons
for those petro-polyesterdays
While she—
could no more manufacture life
than mint their money
So, they blamed her
Pronounced her—“Dead”
Decried her *****
Now—
She wanders sadly under bridges
stopping to eddy in an overhang of birches
In dank canals, I found her sleeping
angered only at the falls
Poor outcast!
with current edge she splinters light
from cities sadder still
retching her oily stench
past Plum Island
into the sea— into me
What’re a few warm tears
falling from someplace on a bridge
to the icy waters of the Merrimack?
Rivers get lost in the ocean don’t they?
Let them find each other there
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 12:49 AM UTC
If I was a king of Asia I would give you all the gold there is
But I'm not even prince of Persia, all I have is love and dreams
Let me show you land of legends, land of honeymoon and rising sun
I am not as rich as Ali Baba, but I promise we'll be having fun
I'll take you to Bali the gem of Java Sea
Then we'll go on to safari a little south of Abu Dhabi
I'll take you to Maldives to swim in coral reefs
We'll enjoy the sweet papaya on the islands of Pattaya
I'll show you lake Baikal, Tibet and Taj Mahal
We'll see Macao, Yokohama, Hanoi, Jeddah, Jaipur, Jakarta
I'll take you to Dubai, Dushanbe and Mumbai
We'll spend some starry nights in yurts near the city of Yakutsk
I’ll take you to Tashkent where melons got their scent
We will taste all sorts of apples in the city of Almaty
I’ll take you to Beirut we'll go nuts on dried fruits
And the coffee with vanilla we can try it in Manilla
I'll take you to Kashgar to shop at old bazaar
Then we'll fly a magic carpet to the markets of Qatar
We'll see ruins of Karakorum the old capital of Moguls
Then we'll go to Kathmandu and then Karachi and Kabul
We'll discover caves with treasures, make three wishes all at once
All at once will turn to a fairy tale, like in one and thousand nights
Let me show you feast of colors, take you cross the dunes in caravans
Even if I don't look like Alladin, I sure know a thing about romance
I'll take you to Taipei to see its lovely bay
We will sip on Coca Cola on the silky sands of Goa
I'll take you to Shanghai where towers touch the sky
And the best of architecture we will see in precious Petra
We'll go to Ashgabat, Bishkek, Busan, Baghdad
We will see Great Wall of China and Cambodian Angkor Wat
We'll see the Everest, mount Fuji, Gobi Desert
And it's certainly my pleasure to take you all around Asia!
Apr 3, 2022
Apr 3, 2022 at 10:07 PM UTC
Banality reins supreme
In our children’s dreams.
What do you expect
When principles defect
And brand names
Mark the scene,
When rock stars sell their souls
To executives in suits,
Make perfumes
From their dance room sweat
And wear expensive boots,
Then slap their name
On random ****
And sell how nice and cute
Their clothes look on baby girls
They know we can’t refute.
As if they write their music,
Or pen their awful hits,
******* souls for millions;
Tear integrity to bits.
When art is lost for money,
And the formula is the norm,
When thousands gyrate madly
To aural chloroform,
When children posture wildly
In photos with no shame
And send them to their idols
Who don’t care to carry blame,
When all we know is taken,
Corrupted and perverse,
And all our keen philanthropy
Is squeezed into a hearse,
When there’s nothing left
But adverts on our doors,
And mindless dancing robots
Falling to the floor,
Then we might just notice
How much we had to lose
When we turned our children loose
To tie up their own noose.
No matter how steep the cost,
There’s always room to climb
As soul-less music moguls
Wrangle for a dime.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 2:51 PM UTC
Creases cemented in skin of ages,
bending forward ratcheting wrinkles
piled like a car crash, systemically dried
routing for moisture moguls, malfunctioned,
marked measures of time spelt skin attack,
pillowed ruts run deep, prolonging
their birthmark, plumping....out on a date
with new age spaces yet to be filled
Sarcasm streets, filching frowned brows
suns' stolen chastity, lifting out brown
messages spotted at random
grey mandarins, juiceless, bribing
to be heard, a manifesto hidden,
shrivelled prunes wallowing in dried skins
reaching out for the bottomless custard jug
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC
Between
Black and White
Right and Wrong
War and Peace
lies the
Gray zone the
Blurred line
Middle ground
Limbo
No boundaries between
Good and Evil
Moral and Amoral
Thin ice and
Solid ground
No safety net to prevent slipping into extremes
No caution signs or flashing lights to guide our steps
We live and die in a
Fairy tale with alternate endings penned by
Politicians
Media moguls and
Religious fanatics who
Convince us to
Choose from a stacked deck to
Win a fixed game
Compliment us on our finery
tho we are threadbare or naked
We live in the land of the free where the
Rule of law applies only to commoners
Opportunity comes with a price few can afford and
Everyone has the
Right to work and the
Right to be exploited
You might be dwelling in the kingdom of surreality if….
Conflicting images are presented as harmonious
Opposites are blended to form bland
Ugliness is sugar-coated and swallowed whole
Love and passion interfere with success.
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 2:40 PM UTC
Drastic words taken from a manic world,
Have you heard that what they print is labelled on you.
Its over now,
As the sun begins to rise,
Tomorrows world,
Always forgets the man that dies.
Reality later,
Reality later,
Fiction from the truth printed there.
Reality later,
Reality later,
Editorial journalists they don't care cause the paper sells...
Tabloid Mess!
Celebrity taker,
Paparazzi will follow you everywhere,
So you want to be in the paper?
Fame and fortune has its price that will tear.
Sold out now,
This world exclusive news,
Read all about it now,
Aliens land on chrismas eve!
Reality later,
Reality later,
Fiction from the truth printed there,
Reality later,
Reality later,
Editorial journalists they dont care cause the paper sells...
Tabloid Mess!
They deserve it now,
All of those printed lies,
War of words,
From the media moguls!
Reality later,
Reality later,
Fiction from the truth printed there.
Reality later,
Reality later,
Editorial journalists they dont care cause the paper sells...
Tabloid Mess!
Reality later,
Reality later,
Fiction from the truth printed there.
Reality later,
Reality later,
Its all a bit of a joke laugh the press so swindled in you.
Tabloid Mess!
O'Reily@08072015
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 12:28 AM UTC
No one ever asked me
if I wanted to be shackled, instead of being free
no one ever asked, but decided anyway
to turn and bolt the open doors
tie me to the dusty concrete floors and work me to the bone.
No one said,you'll never own a home and if you do
we'll steal it back
and mortgage you instead,
one day we'll all be dead
'so what's the rush?' is what I said.
Brokers in the token towers endowed with powers beyond our 'ken'
and if or when they do decide to let the status quo remain
the status quo will automatically, register it as another of the same old krap
it's something else that they'll steal back.
I've got to tell you, that I'm pig sick
of make it fast and spend it quick and sod the rule of law it never did apply , to the hotshot, potbellied, suited city guy who has his eye on articles one to five and in any case will most definitely survive against the odds by burying away us poor sods in backroom books,stirred slowly into microfilm by corporate crooks who cook away as if each day a different menu was on sale.
Beyond the pale where riders sit and watch the scenes unfold, and it is foretold that judgement day will wash the wicked clean away and save the righteous.
Yes,
well don't I just believe all that
another bunch of total krap.
The pious in their pious world could not foresee that greed alone would be the fall of man..and in the fall,where man has done it all and nothing of it done remains
the register clicks on two more games to play
one tonight
and one the day to come
a bonus ball for everyone except Mario because he's on heroin,you know it,I know it
the moguls in the mighty towers blow coke into their nose and they know it too.
Not a thing I want to do
should I do, would I if I could do,do?
I wonder where it's written that
we have to go there to get back
and if we go why don't we stay
one day we'll all be dead.
A thought as going ,when to bed arrived in and another trial that I survived through
one more dish of microfiche that never swam in any sea
and small as anything you see
or smaller for all that
a status bit of ***
for tat
and let the gnats and hounds of titled lords and ladies give the peasants rampant rabies, who cares but the undertakers undertaker,the sombre funeral formulator?
and I don't give a ****
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
My name is Dave, I'm polite and clean
I left my home in Aberdeen
To be your host, that is my task
All for the fun and a season's pass
So under the table with your feet
If you like garlic you're in for a treat
You'll sit and dine with cheapo wine
The recipes will work out fine
With fancy puds you will be nourished
All presented with a flourish
At the end of the week goodbye my friends
Next week I do it all over again.
Up the lift, must not be late
Find the ski school, they won't wait
Hello, and what's your name?
Do you think we ski the same?
Bend ze knees, don't lean back
Snake down in line, like on a track
This is how you need to be
It's counter-intuitive you see.
Under the lift, in full view
Two people collide
Ouch! I'm glad that wasn't me or you.
Stop for lunch, sit in the sun
Do the moguls, have your fun
But do take care, take care a lot
If you fall you may not stop.
It's nearly over all too fast
This morning's lesson is the last
"So 'ave you learned somesing? asks Jean-Louis
We all reply "Oui merci".
Dec 18, 2011
Dec 18, 2011 at 10:54 AM UTC
Like God amassing gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh,
vain potentates, possessed by pride that riches will confer,
depleted pillaged villages in pagan days of old…
With *********** privileges, their fortunes were foretold.
In feudal times, chaste clerics, cloaked, wrapped rings around the mind
with hymns of magic, mystic myths and figurines enshrined,
while blessing bayonet-like blades that mutilate and maim…
With *********** privileges, believers bore no blame.
In search of caramel colonies, some sailors set their sails
to conquer puppet provinces, for sovereignty prevails,
purloining wicked treasure troves which others claimed their own…
With *********** privileges, such sins sustained the throne.
Well, nowadays the quest proceeds, this time for ebon oil,
so peoples once again are caught within the serpent’s coil
and, pierced by fangs of greed and lust, death yields benign escape…
With *********** privileges, you’re free to rip and ****
We wave the flags and beat the drums and often kneel to pray
to glorify our victories, bold, that happen far away;
but none salute the severed souls impaled upon a pike…
With *********** privileges, the riffraff look alike.
One day the moguls won’t agree on how to slice the pie;
they’ll spit and spat and, tit-for-tat, atomic barbs will fly -
but when the button’s finally pressed, they too will grace the heap…
With *********** privileges, the hole that’s hewn is deep.
Apr 20, 2021
Apr 20, 2021 at 5:13 PM UTC
Where’s your soul dear actress?
Is it drifting on the paper cranes
made from spent Washingtons?
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 11:28 PM UTC
By twist and ties from ages past,
We are but Union bound
Ruled from afar by silver spoons,
'til hope and freedom found,
A fire in the belly of daughters and sons
Made a home in faces awash in blue,
With roaring thunder in voices loud, proclaim;
A Scot! Proud, free, canny and true.
Past leaders, past has-beens, past moguls and crooks,
The passion spreads, face to face,
Tangible static in the Square tonight,
The cone standing tall in it's place.
The fire of the people out in the streets,
Casting eyes to freedom's distant shores,
Their message clear and printed in bold,
With every paper passed through street-lit doors.
'Saor Alba! 'Alba gu Bràth!'
The spirit of Scotia is free.
'Bairns not Bombs!' 'Seize it with both hands!', they cry,
This Aye vote is for you, and for me.
With faith, with courage, with braw, gallus grace,
This word will nae weesht, but spread,
Not if but when, not now but again,
Independence is ne'er 'put to bed'.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 7:35 PM UTC
Media moguls
(The big six)
Media moguls, farming us like baboons, leaving just a flicker of our human potential; enough to consume.
A bitter machine, manufacturing and selling the illusion of fear and failure; ******* with our subconscious, spinning and expanding this dark material world; for nothing more than prestige and false profits.
There is more to life than this!
Wake up Space monkeys!
Apr 4, 2021
Apr 4, 2021 at 5:00 AM UTC
Easy-going energy moguls at Exxon Mobil,
Insidiously sip scotch in their ivory towers,
They take no blame for the blame is ours,
We, the worker bees, were employed to **** the soil,
Little did we know it was the hallowed ground under our very own families feet,
Now we look towards our homes and see nothing but ash and hell fire,
Our collective youth and countless hours of precious life,
Traded for false abundance and counterfeit wealth,
When it all burns will you still care about your bank account?
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 10:57 AM UTC
I'm passed unnoticed
I am driftwood beached blanched
til my final tide.
Haiku 2
I am seventeen
imposed as a three line whip
imaged as haiku.
Haiku 3
Blackbird bristling bold
chirping like an angry wife
did he do her wrong.
Haiku 4
Magpies skymasters
flying menacing moguls
casting long shadows.
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 6:12 AM UTC
he shoulders shame
carrying the weight of the dead,
slung over him
partnering with gravity,
these memory moguls slow him down
though he keeps trudging
when one drops, another
takes his place -- first his father, then
a brother, stillborn
not half the weight of a stone,
yet his carcass bends his back
like any full grown beast
for he did not weep
with his mother when its blue soul
was yanked from her womb
nor did he shed a tear
when his father's heart gave out
a billion beats too soon
when he forgets his sins as son
he recalls another one--the boy he
slew on a brown river's bank;
floating still in the Mekong, riddled
with the rifle's rabid rounds, he often catches
a ride in memory's stream
leading a relay team of shame shifters
he carries with him every step, though
the world sees him walk alone
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 9:13 PM UTC
poisoned symmetry
ancient gargoyles in the shape
of present day moguls
presidents and kings
----
doomed and disgraced
walking in the blood rain
of our "present situation"
hiding in false love
and foolish love poems
-------
the statues are being "pulled down"
only wealth and power, now
prison torture replaces the school house games
we hide
in false love
and foolish love poems
false pride
and patriotism
and
ultimately
profound pain
Mar 30, 2011
Mar 30, 2011 at 2:23 PM UTC
poisoned symmetry
ancient gargoyles in the shape
of present day moguls
presidents and kings
----
doomed and disgraced
walking in the blood rain
of our "present situation"
hiding in false love
and foolish love poems
-------
the statues are being "pulled down"
only wealth and power, now
prison torture replaces the school house games
we hide
in false love
and foolish love poems
false pride
and patriotism
and
ultimately
profound pain
Mar 30, 2011
Mar 30, 2011 at 2:23 PM UTC
He crosses the street
But never takes the corner of his eye
Off of you
As if you would actually let
Your foot off the brake
This Civil War
Our nation is now fighting
Is different
Than the last
The sign in the convenience store window
Warns of shoplifters being shot
And survivors.. They'll be shot once more
The store clerk follows you
Discreetly, so he thinks
Almost begging for you
To use your five finger discount
This Civil War
Our nation is now fighting
Is different
Than the last
Money-hungry moguls
Only widening the gap
The vagabond with ripped pants
The newlyweds who work so much
To have so little
The capitalist kings
Poisoning the peasants
Anything for an extra buck
Anything
As the rich get richer....
This Civil War
Our nation is now fighting
Is different
Than the last
A real-life game
Of cops and robbers
Has gone way too far
Guilty
Not guilty
He said
She said
Armies forming
Head to head
Parting
Like the Red Sea
This Civil War
Our nation is now fighting
Is different
Than the last
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 12:55 PM UTC
there was no power
from my Mumbai hotel I
could see the stream of people
in the narrow street below
a cart carrying the dead listed
and nearly toppled over
the ox pulling it did not stop
dragging the askew carriage along
passersby steered clear of the primitive hearse
knowing it carried the curse, the fever felling the denizens
of this muggy megapolis
a plague harvesting souls
quicker than they could be burned
the Mithi was thick with their ashes,
diluted only by tears of the mourners
who harbored fears they would be next
I was there, a helpless healer;
a doctor turned detective, running
a race to find a cause, a miracle cure
all my potions impotent,
all my staring at slides a lesson
in limitations, ignorance--a discovery
of crawling creatures too miniscule
to be dissected, too beguiling to be
understood
my eyes were tired of looking
at the tiny death moguls and their victims
my ears weary of the entreaties for relief
from suffering
yet I stood and watched, one wagon
after another, carrying carrion for the pyres
I prayed the power would stay off,
for light would have shone on me:
a curious survivor, unworthy of whatever
grace kept me from the heaps of lifeless
limbs bound for the fires of the night
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 11:34 PM UTC
Deep in a forest of fake news
Where headline games are people’s views
where pandemics become plandemics
where anti Vaxxers avoid vaccinations
and billionaires avoid taxation.
The forest of fake news
didn’t just spring up
watered by raining lies
governed by media moguls
and Facebook spies
Google and the internet shows us what we want to see
inverted mirrors of reality
each showing trees
a forest for all
with no clarity
How do see the forest from the trees?
or the trees that are fake?
life is forest full of trees but they are increasingly on the make
or plastic
or diseased
or just tricks in our sight
digital trees born out of spite
then cut down into newspapers
there’s no one to save us
we want to see the truth
that wasn’t always hidden
but we’d rather see the fake that’s not guilt ridden.
Truth the tree of life is now overrun
No one can see it
It’s been over come
and in the dark all trees look the same
it’s you and I who are to blame
We allowed them to plant
there fake news trees
and lies and untruths are a disease.
Oct 2, 2020
Oct 2, 2020 at 2:39 PM UTC
As pernicious abate
and heat expose a seance
the impending storm tracking with an epistle
only return with a doomsday flight here
when a message disclose the raft
in a sea of moguls with a titan
let fashion disrobe from an olive tree
that mount preparedness with a tremble
then drain the swamp!
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 6:52 AM UTC
Rolex rendered
Role extended in a ****** up world
Upside down
Raise the roof
Rock the boat
Cause a scene, I'm begging you
Reverse the morals of moguls and the lessons on possessions
Preach the truth, not the gospel
Under God's spell
Teetering on the edge of ignorance and turning a blind eye
It's as if the world is drunk and is walking the line
The line
A fine line
A fine line and we're drunk on the cheap wine they've been pouring down our throats
Get us drunk and manipulate us
Intending to **** with our minds and coax us to their side
Their side of the line
That ******* line
Between the morally correct and the morally punishable
Go to Hell!
The line that's drawn in the sand and about to be stepped over
Be the one to step over
Erase the line
Create new ones and cross them too
Continue crossing lines until the world wakes up
Make noise
Wake up the sleeping, blinding, head-in-the-sand world
Make an impression
Leave your name written on every corner of the globe
Shake hands and kiss babies
Be the modern Jesus
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 1:16 AM UTC
He looked out of his fine high-ceilinged office
He looked down at the city far below
With sleeves rolled up and his blood pressure mounting
Profits missing meant workers had to go.
He didn't care where they would come from
Little people never registered on his screen
He was totally focussed on making dollars
In that he was absolutely obscene.
A little way down from his high pedestal
Was where those desperate celebrities abide
Where they sit wafer-thin in dark glasses
As they feed like piranhas on the crowds.
And though the Hollywood moguls will use them
Because they are the puppets that they are
All memories of where they all came from
Are now just a small thing in the past.
Lower still you will find politicians
All waiting for the moment that is theirs
When they have the glory of the 'fifteen minute fame'
Before they fall back to their own obscurity.
We on the other hand gather down in the street
Like sheep we wait there in the hope that we'll meet
A top businessman who might give us a position
Or perhaps for a glance at a celebrity snob.
And just up above the media vultures hover
As they hope for a juicy story to break
They'll not care a fig for the lives they devour
Just the ratings for them are at stake.
As they say 'T'was ever thus' and it shall ever be
And it seems that frankly it can only get worse
You see my fine friend it's not the humans involved
It's simply the size of the ever-growing purse.
©Joe Wilson - Well we know where we belong don't we? 2014
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 4:08 PM UTC
Public Now Awake
Strategic Factoid Deployed
Media Destroyed
Modern Haiku
3 lines
Each line has limited syllables
As follows 5 – 7–5
Inspired song
New York, New York
Song by Frank Sinatra
Footnotes
When You go on the Internet
you don’t know if you’re getting the facts or
you’re getting factoids.
Fake news
Computer Generated
Media moguls
Directing the narrative,
Deceiving Society
It’s sad commentary
on the way of the world
FYI
My first use of hashtags
Poem to follow 😎
Mar 2, 2025
Mar 2, 2025 at 2:40 AM UTC
What do I have left to give
I’m spent and fading like a week-old rose
I gave my beauty to uncaring eyes
Who never saw beyond the makeup
I gave my talent to unfeeling moguls
Who used it just to monetize
I gave my wisdom to foolish clowns
Who read my musings upside down
I gave my razor wit to empty faces
Who never tried to get the joke
I gave my toil to unappreciation
And unwillingness to compensate
I sang my song to deafened ears
And never got to hear applause
I wrote my words on tissue paper
And they left them outside in the rain
I gave my heart in hopeful sharing
And got it back in shredded pieces
I have nothing left to give....but up
And somehow I just can’t do that.
ljm
Aug 7, 2017
Aug 7, 2017 at 1:35 AM UTC