"royalties" poems
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer
was leading a lonely life working nights
at the fukfoorfiffenfimmer factory
where he was in charge of loading crates
full of fukfoorfiffenfimmers, onto cargo cars destined for the city of Cincinnati.
There was such a huge demand for fukfoorfiffenfimmers in the city of Cincinnati,
poor Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer worked his hunnyhush to the bone.
On one of his few holiday weekends,
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer went to a hair salon for a trim.
Here he was attended by a hairdresser named, Henrietta Huckhellopolis.
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer instantly fell for the husky-voiced hairdresser.
Gaining enough gumption and gallasisgoppingguff needed to bypass beating around the bush of courteous courtship,
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer asked Henrietta Huckhellopolis if she wanted to leerlumpaloomp later that evening.
"I would love to leerlumpaloomp later this evening," she replied, batting her long lashes lustily.
And how those two leerlumpaloomped!
They leerlumpaloomped long through the night.
They leerlumpaloomped so loudly,
the neighbours ended up sticking stuffystoils
into their sensilivities, in hopes of drowning out the noise.
Nine months later,
the lovers were blessed with a litter of lullaloonillies—wot with the loud leerlumpaloomping and all.
But, of the seven lullaloonillies, four of them had two lumpalots instead of one.
Bolstering himself against drowning in despair at the prospect of having sired freak lullaloonillies,
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer helped design fukfoorfiffenfimmers especially meant for lullaloonillies who have two lumpalots instead of one.
As the double-lumpalot fukfoorfiffenfimmers
were Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer's idea, the owner of the fukfoorfiffenfimmer factory gave Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer
a forty percent cut of the royalties.
*Fortunately some fairy tales come with a happy ending, because the city of Cincinnati was hit with a record number of lullaloonillies
born with two lumpalots instead of just the one.
The high sales of double-lumpalot fukfoorfiffenfimmers,
enabled Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer and Henrietta Huckhellopolis
to quit their jobs and buy into the fukfoorfiffenfimmer factory.
Yes, after getting married,
Harry Heironymous and Henrietta Huckhellopolis-Huffenhoffer
lived happily hever hafter.
So did the lullaloonillies....
including those with two lumpalots instead of one.*
Sep 6, 2011
Sep 6, 2011 at 1:16 PM UTC
My dear summers dream was to the taste cream
Pass me the triple beam the microphone fiend
Back on the scene simplicity is your complexity
So amazingly like grace I be rockin' the place
Like we Studio 54 shut down the doors
Once the bubbly pours and the **** adores
Ya mental **** ya sentimentals and these new aged millennials
They too satirical I make miracles flow potholes
Creatin' mass mayhem your an inconvenience
Cuz of ya hesitance my presence is known
Without even being shown paragraphs of stone
Hard to crack waxing tracks like a shark attack
Felonious acts we never back down
Til my soul drown in the core of the earth
Royalties since birth new my worth they tried to mirth
At my pain tryna change the game cuz all these cowards
Saying the same thang got dang got dang
Time to chess box like Wu Tang leavin' a stain
On ya reign no tears though I'll be on solo
Rippin' up instrumentals ya know how we do so...yeahhh
From the Sunny to bees that make the honey
Sticky icky like my spliffs be call me smokey
Puttin' fire to mother natures forests check the creases I
unleashes
Rap game mafiaso so so better back back
Or else get dropped lika Domino so here we go!
Here we go!
With the ghetto jams love girls with the derriere's of Pam
Got **** once again it's time to slam
Mics harder than Shawn Kemp ya flows shrimp
That's why ya girl calls me Mr **** no limp
Slick as Rick hello young world tilt and a whirl
Catch the swirl of Qatar Pearls on the neck of ya girl
Suckas better know I'm coming with a blow
Harder than Bowe combined with a super glow
black Saiyan raps slayin' turntables layin'
So I can get wicked lyrics Pickett
like Wilson
Flows in unison formation
of words
Herds a violent surge
feel the purge
We high rising no disguisin'
knockin' out Suckas who jivin' ain't none survivin' ?
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 11:09 PM UTC
If treason is my wine
Than I shall drink it
Because I will not part take in your conceited royalties.
But if you are my friend
Than we shall go lay on a beach
And enjoy it's impurities
If loving you is sin
Then I will dance with the devil
And impure deities
And if dying with you is my fate
Then so be it that I die in your selfish arms
Because my heart enjoys it's romantic cruelities
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 2:56 PM UTC
The puppet's second awakening is a knight of crusading, evils boots I bet are quaking, especially when his sword starts shaking.
Though made of wood he's hardly bored, he's killing all the little lords. Royalties high but he'll bring them low with one fell swoop and mighty blow.
Arrows cut but they don't dry, fires good but you just try. He's got a shield it's good for blocking, you better be ready when he comes knocking.
All in all he's quite the lad, made of wood and iron clad. And with his holy cross of might he'll slay all evil in his sight.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 5:02 AM UTC
one man cannot bring a nation to its knees
but a nation can bring one man to his knees
we are trapped in slave mentality
we created our own royalties
not chosen by the content of character
the fruits of labour speaks clear n loud
corruption greed small minded
South Africa's royal family
chosen by the public
serving themselves
what a shame
on national television "nogal"
if ever i was ashamed to be South African
he and he alone
gave rise to freedom
called father of the nation
fed his children to the wolves of corruption and greed
yet we honour and praise him
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 4:56 AM UTC
Don't let these Jokers trick you into trading your Heart's dreams for royalties.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 2:21 AM UTC
We have a small sculpture of Henry James on our terrace in New York City.
Nothing would surprise him.
The beast in the jungle was what he saw--
Edith Wharton's obfuscating older brother. . .
He fled the demons
of Manhattan
for fear they would devour
his inner ones
(the ones who wrote the books)
& silence the stifled screams
of his protagonists.
To Europe
like a wandering Jew--
WASP that he was--
but with the Jew's
outsider's hunger. . .
face pressed up
to the glass of ***
refusing every passion
but the passion to write
the words grew
more & more complex
& convoluted
until they utterly imprisoned him
in their fairytale brambles.
Language for me
is meant to be
a transparency,
clear water gleaming
under a covered bridge. . .
I love his spiritual sister
because she snatched clarity
from her murky history.
Tormented New Yorkers both,
but she journeyed
to the heart of light--
did he?
She took her friends on one last voyage,
through the isles of Greece
on a yacht chartered with her royalties--
a rich girl proud to be making her own money.
The light of the Middle Sea
was what she sought.
All denizens
of this demonic city caught
between pitch and black
long for the light.
But she found it
in a few of her books. . .
while Henry James
discovered
what he had probably
started with:
that beast, that jungle,
that solipsistic scream.
He did not join her
on that final cruise.
(He was on his own final cruise).
Did he want to?
I would wager yes.
I look back with love and sorrow
at them both--
dear teachers--
but she shines like Miss Liberty
to Emma Lazarus' hordes,
while he gazes within,
always, at his own
impenetrable jungle.
3.2k
Left bank beards
in Beat hotel rooms,
a boulangerie breakfast
down the street and to the left,
and for lunch fresh baked bread and brie.
Letters sent home to fathers and mothers
singing sweet serenades of Paris
dressed up in autumn shades,
cheques for the royalties that'll
get them to Belize to write and swoon,
chat up ladies in the early afternoon;
where hotel fees that are treble those in the 5th,
bookshop stalls that'll never be found
another closing-down-establishment myth.
They were climbing with oxygen
long before we came along,
base camp poems written under
floor lamplight right before
the eyes of others.
Jett powered prose and wine in the light
sleight-of-hand punctuation and uptight
editors looking for finer narration.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 3:52 PM UTC
The king and queen cried
“Bless us! We cannot conceive!”
And “blessed” they were.
Their heir, a miracle, a vision of royalties.
And so a celebration was in order
(as is most pertinent in events such as princess births)
to adorn the little lamb with gifts.
“Gifts”.
Whether the blame lies here or there
our princess lamb heir stands the most to suffer
in cases such as forgotten friends.
Or unforgetful vengeance--
So spite screeched an everlasting “CURSE THEE TO DEATH ON THE ***** OF A SPINDLE!”
And with a turn of its heels shock
set in.
...shock
sinks
in.
The well-intentioned sprite attempts to soften the wolf’s blow on our little lamb heir--
Only a nap--
only it would seem such in the conjecture of events.
Now no longer is she princess baby heir then does a spindle come alive
X winters later!
(convenient, one might say--in all the land one’s but burned, temptingly locked away in the curious tower)
Insert fainting sounds.
Insert crowded gasps.
Insert “told you so!”
And the sheep follow our little lamb’s sleep.
One hundred year sleep.
Hair follicles sprout a slimy green, and not-so-royal fungi flourishes--
brash brambles tuck in the herd as if to say
“Sleep tight!
Don’t let the mites bite!”
But not our little lamb.
Reassuringly beautiful princess lamb heir keeps
like red wine.
She is only to be drank up from the
right cup--
a proper lamb.
Prince Lamb.
Whose worries consist of much different things than our lamb heir--
but for another ‘lore.
Our Prince Lamb dips, sips,
lips on lips
and she is awake!
Beautiful princess lamb knows exactly what to make
of all this?
The sheep herd rises,
and their “joyous” bleating reverberate
and penetrate
cold castle walls and break down the thorny cover.
And they lived happily
(and most originally)
ever after--
as sheep tend to do.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 11:02 AM UTC
All he could see were numbers
that reached out and grabbed taxes
and takes, invoices and expenditures.
He could not see explanations of delight
that little mistake I made with fringe benefits,
those royalties that never came.
In the end his only concern was to pay the taxes
to build the roads, skyways and airports
where he would travel and stay.
I wondered how he slept at night
cocooned in numbers
just 1-9 with a hefty zero
that made the difference between rich and poor
I wondered how he could survive on numbers
no cucumbers, sunshine salads, beach beauties,
high waves of reckless living, low tides of penniless nights
and endless days of counting little many times over.
He said to me once: Save every cent,
fortify yourself against depression and
natural disasters, don't spend lavishly
there's a price to pay
cut up your credit card. Live austerely.
Oh yeah?. That same day I got an extra CC,
a nice Merc, some good looking sunglasses
(to shield my eyes from the accountants glare)
and a cruise to the Mediterranean
where the blue waters beckoned.
The accountant visited the GP
twice more than me that year.
I'm still working the fat off at the gym.
( I suspect petty poets do the same thing all the time?)
Author Notes
Anyone know this guy?
Check this Novel out!
The Chrysanthemum Trilogy: Transition
Marshall E Gass
ISBN 9781493137848
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 5:21 PM UTC
he named me after him,
his best ditty ever,
my inheritance,
a laughing brook of
guppy royalties,
that keep our Labrador
reasonably well fed poetically
and of course his name
his name,
which was not so much inherited,
as deposited, X-mark-the-son
they ask,
no, they declarative announce
as fact,
answered even as asking,
tho their voices rising
in a pretend-questioning format,
are you as good as he was?
Oh no, of course not,
I'm merely the son,
He was the father,
between us,
the
Holy Ghost of Rhyme
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC
Rumpelstiltskin caught the clap
Miss Muffet got a slap
Breadcrumbs leading to the gap,
Indicated on Grimm’s map.
The Magic mirror’s spewing crap
Helping the Huntsman continually fap.
The Third Little Pig, stripped of his red wig.
Booked a new gig, on Cinderella’s oil rig.
Snow White fell back asleep.
Creepy dwarves tentatively creep
The Big Bad Wolf’s known to weep.
Staring regretfully at the flock of Lil Bo-Peep.
Mother Goose’s gone years without a peep.
Recognizing that royalties shouldn’t come cheap.
Humpty Dumpty forgot the wall, forewarned of the inevitable fall.
Beauty left Beast at the mall, said kind words, but never did call.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 8:30 PM UTC
This is your final warning!
Got really scared when they said if you don't accept it, you'll lose it!
In a glowing shiny e-mail, that screamed at me, you must accept.
Except, I didn't know how.
Tried once , twice, maybe thrice, could not accept their promises of honest riches.
Sons of ******* ****** pay pal.
Asked me to change my password a million times.
To log in tons of times!
Finally I did it, Eureka, payment of my royalties succeeds!
(c) Livvi
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 5:12 AM UTC
im not black
But the matter of that fact is whack
Attack me, cause im weak
Is it power you seek
I have nothing but Love
Still you shoved me away
Now introverted and grey
The demons hold sway
But still
I pray
No better than you
im black inside too
Royalties blue
Blood
Tales from the crypt
Never said I was hip
Son
13 blacks and 1 white
Inevitably there was a fight
I bite my tongue
Cause I will not succumb
To: pride
of colors
Man I am blind
I find lines in my mind that bind
You
To: me
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 10:25 PM UTC
Shadows that haunt
My sleep
Awaken the treachery
Of souls I've lost to keep.
Corrupted royalties
Disrupting vanities
Signal to loved ones
This mind is asleep.
Could be a year or two.
I didn't know her, did you?
Whatever I try to do
It's never true.
Speak from your heart.
Your words are rambles
At best.
Tear me apart.
Exit my life,
I'll be blessed.
Feb 2, 2019
Feb 2, 2019 at 1:13 AM UTC
-- he sees farther than I
So I'll drink to that.
A toast to scotland.
We toasted royalty,
and so don't have to
pay any royalties . .. ...
--> concesssions were made I'm sure . .. ...
my grandfar would have seen to that.
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 4:06 AM UTC
Some times I pray for the Lord to take me away
From the pain that stays and friends went astray
Once I hit the bottom of the crab barrel
I a ghostly Pharoah living life on death row
My soul inside of a atom'd shell well
Ain't nothing but hell can't even bail
Only if my life got tooken or naturally Rosen
From a unwakened sleep my conscious speaks
Tryna break free but I gotta lotta work clearly
I know they fear me cuz knowledge
Is dangerous G see how many form up as enemies
After ya royalties ain't no more loyalty
Once they see the building of a dynasty
I resurrected as a king corruption born into a ring
Of a fire I'm king Tut risen from the grave givin'
Nothing but revisited pain that stains
Ya master plan I got a powerful clan
Who all pack at least fifty grand packing the stans
And turn haters into fans without even being mainstream man
Restrictions of land plot riots got brought
Unto the community guns and drugs separate unity
They disputing me cuz I speak truthfully
Most fools be spitting for mass publicity
But I gives a **** about the industry
It ain't what it used to be so many phonies
Acting like they ya homies when they holding pistols
Behind ya back my minds spins black
Back to the days of where realness sits at
That's a preposition **** the intermission
I know the rap game is about the commission
Since hataz sho they neck they bound for lynching
No disrespect to the deads souls that dialed connect
Down the gun line all I need is one line
Like to Nas gun line broke the laws that define
Me as a ***** I stay holding my trigger
I try to spread love but most miss the picture
A photograph of his last laugh before ye see the blood bath
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 8:59 AM UTC
*Wet lands smell like tomorrow
And dry lands reminisce the good old days of rainfall
Fate has a thing for tragedies
And lust is a fierce soldier
Castles are like seen mysteries
And towers, royalties nemesis*
*Love and hate are two unequal friends,
The later has an uncanny envious flair for the former,
But the former, soars above the later far and farther than heights can go*
*The memories that trees hold
Are priceless and endless
That even the seas can hold no boundaries
The oceans flow unending
But keeps a tale of the after call
And when rain comes calling,
Every element of earth respects this after call*
Evna-Luna©
**After some of my good poet friends left here, I'm finally back to do what I do best..... Writing poetry"
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 6:51 AM UTC
Marley Brando
So many options,
can’t say too many options,
but honestly what do you do,
when even too much is not enough,
“What?”,
“Were you saying something?,
I feel like I’m in a dream,
I’m asking for affirming,
because I don’t feel a thing…”,
You stare at me with those infinite eyes,
“I feel exactly the same way.”,
then you shift your gaze,
and stare off for eternity,
as that fire inside keeps burning me,
something simmering inside is burning me,
anxious and pacing,
all out of patience,
feeling like a Patient in a Psycho-Ward society,
yes I’m fine so please don’t bother me,
I won’t sign over royalties and no I don’t need notoriety,
I’ll leave that for the words,
and all the flabby flack from the flock of ruffle feathered haters,
waiting in the wings I fly by & leave that for the Birds,
word word word,
words are what we scribe as a Writer of The Times,
words to explain when I’m gone,
words to explain when we’re gone,
when the memories have all faded,
because unless a Tyrant burns the books,
we’ll have our history scribed onto these pages,
lopsided but liberated,
feeling like a rat in a cage,
or a canary in a coalmine,
consumed with the thought to “Just get way.”,
just get away,
I’m already gone anyways,
don’t be fooled by this shell of a body,
I’ve been through Hell so now I’m in The Hills where I party,
Heaven can wait I’m on the Guest-List anyways so I won’t have to waste time at The Gate,
ready to party,
with Jim Morrison and Bob Marley,
and Brando but no Commando,
yeah I’m talking to you Sylvester sorry,
Charlie,
Chaplin for certain,
Sheen well we’ll see,
Janis, Jackson, Kurt and,
Pac and it don’t stop,
does it,
what’s in,
your wallet,
Rest In Peace,
Christopher Wallace,
smoking a chalice,
on Cloud 9 with Marley Brando,
cool as an Ice Cream Sundae,
relaxing watching the world go bananas,
B-A-N-A-N-A-S,
shout out to Gwen,
Steph,
I spin around and ask,
“What is this,
I meanI know it sounds cliche,
but does any of this really exist?”,
“Oh and where’d my mind go?”,
So many options,
won’t say too many though,
but honestly what do you do,
when even too much is not enough?,
“What?”,
“Were you saying something?,
I feel like I’m in a dream,
I’m asking for affirming,
because I don’t feel a thing…”…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
author of 3 #1 Best Sellers,
& The Poetry Trilogy
∆
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 6:03 AM UTC
Homeless in paradise, it's never that clean
Home free, since I was a middle-aged teen
Purple haze trees, as my life's infrastructure
Smelling the scent, of my bohemian subculture
Playing along the boardwalks of Venice Beach
Passersby, all the time just begging to screech
Their rude undertones, as they sip on their latte
Surely, I was a given, for a dope smokin' runaway
I must admit, I am a drunk
I will admit, I did love punk
I won't admit, I'm not a hot *****
Have to admit, at skool I did flunk
I'll **** it up, to make a quick buck
But, will you admit, you're a flaming schmuck?
Living in paradise, was forever my scene
Hassle-free start to my touring routine
Purple haze shades, my life now has structure
You see the success, of my worldwide pop culture
Gracing stages of past fame, always to a beat
Fanatical fans always be wanting to meet
Sifting my bin, for stuff I've worn, this be stalking
I'm the greatest musical queen, I've heard them talking
I must admit, I am a drunk
I will admit, I did love punk
I won't admit, I'm not a hot *****
Have to admit, at skool I did flunk
I'll **** it up, to make a quick buck
But, will you admit, you're a flaming schmuck?
Hurting in paradise, for wherever I'm seen
Hitting trees, I ditched my last limousine
Injecting purple haze into my veins, now I’ve suffered
On Youtube, my once famous sculpture is buffered
Fooling around, the ***** strips, never that discreet
With my purple haze shades, I was fast on my feet
Families, not mourning, nor crying, putting me 6 feet under
Atlantic contracts, royalties accrued, now easy to plunder
In departing my last scene, I'd become fatally unstuck
Because of how I'd been living, as a dim-witted, schmuck.
Oct 22, 2019
Oct 22, 2019 at 8:42 PM UTC
Life as we know it is a chance,
But require made hands to dance,
Then **** on everyone with winning prance.
Reading the moving lips,
Looking for people's reactive bits
And que into people's tips.
It's them ballers,
The high rollers,
With stacks of hundreds of dollars,
The snobby know it all white collars.
With them fancy cars,
Hanging in cliquey bars,
Swinging the club in many pars,
As if some royalty bloodline of a tsar.
But in a game of chance, owning a yacht means nothing without a boat!
All those credit cards mean nothing without the proper cards on the table!
Riches mean nothing in a table, nor nice clothes in a game.
Because even kings and queens could fall flat on their faces with those aces!
So let me tell you little bit about this game,
It's reading people to tame,
Where you grind the game without a shame,
Stepping up to no longer stay the same
It's a game recognize your name to a fame.
Just remember the high cards can get you far,
But get beaten by them deus in a bar,
The pairs are wonderful as it gets higher
jokers bring jokes to her admirer,
While the ladies yell "off with their heads!"
In the royal court Cowboys rule supreme,
But those pair of aces undo royalties like puddle of creme.
Two pairs are better than a pair,
And three of a kinds are better than a two pair,
While the wheel is super fair.
Straight line is common winning line
But Flushes them after a dine
The boat takes them for a cruise,
Quads will get them a bruise,
But the nutz are royal flush of hidden ruse!
It's the mastering of perception,
Made hands with repercussion.
Because life as we know it is a chance,
But requires made hands to dance,
And hold onto your winning chips by ******* on them with your prance.
When you have nothing, there is nothing to lose,
Because Hold'em no limit is the purest form of living a life!
,
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 11:38 PM UTC
Heaven high shall I not promise thee;
Nevertheless you will experience no hell
For thou shalt suffer at all no necessity.
But touching thy luxury, I never can tell.
So thine is, O lady luscious, my salary all.
And as you like thou mayest it expend
Along with my royalties so dear but small,
And my banker can my account suspend.
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 2:51 AM UTC
Sometimes in life we have to walk alone, but fear not.
Christ is beside even though you can not see him there.
Sometimes Christ separate us from everyone else now.
For he needs to train and teach us certain things here.
For in us , he raising up prince to lead certain people,
For each of us are royalties, our Kingdom is new earth.
For Christ is King and we are Princes and Princesses.
People from another world, we are only passing through.
For we are here to reveal Christ to the masses here.
So that they too can accept him as their Savior as well.
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 11:42 AM UTC
Everyone trying to explain
I try but can i afford to?
Leaving for good , in ink
Wait a minute
Is this even legal?
Money baths
Coke plates
Romance
From royalties?
Surroundings
Heroes , ******
Introscopics
All the same
Saying-fucking
I love you.
I know what it lookslike
Cliches and cheap flowers
Conversations gone cold
Some of you haven't met
I just wanted something
That was meant to happen
Everything pure gets ****** in
The end
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 4:51 AM UTC