"tycoon" poems
You might be a tycoon but you ain't fooling me in your typhoon!
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 3:26 AM UTC
I am the entourage
Of a fantastic mirage
I am the agent
Of my mind's figment
I am a believer
Of mythical creatures
I am a builder
Of splendid architecture
I am a drunkard
Tripping on futures so absurd
I plan construction
Of my own destruction
I am the feeder
To dreams of grandeur
I am a magician
Of wild, potent concoctions
I am a tycoon
Of emotional typhoons
I am an adept
Skilled in exploiting concepts
I am a parasite
Brandishing fangs that bite
I play host
To a monstrous, hideous ghost
I am an addict
Of thoughts derelict
I am the dreamer
Incapable of anything lesser
I am a diver
Sinking deeper and deeper
I am an insatiable thief
Claiming trophies without grief
I am an emotional hermit
Hoarding my all in a bottomless pit
I am a weaver
Fabricating tales that meander
I am a Neanderthal
Adopting behaviours and habits that appall
I am an ape
Mending wounds that gape
I am but me
I'm blind, fighting to see
I am rhymesmith
I lie through my teeth
Getting hard to breathe
Heart to words, I seethe...
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 7:28 AM UTC
I was on the way to find out my destination,
It was a rugged terrain without shed of trees on the road side,
Burning Sun shine on the top of my head and
Stony patches below my foot,
On a junction of the two roads,
You came out!
With …..
“Generous green of forest in our face,
Deepest blue of ocean in your eyes,
Melodious wind of mountain valley on your hair and
Splendid light of the don on your smile”,
As if this new path after this junction
going to lead me to the nature’s own womb.
Conversely, when we face each other you asked
‘Who I am?’ and ‘where I am going to?’
I was surprised; no one poses such questions to me on this long walk,
But I have already comes a crossed the Security man with gun in their hand,
The Beggar with stony beggaring plate in their hand,
The Food vendors with hot food in their basket,
The Knowledge tycoon with bag of books on their shoulder,
The Political guardian with embryonic power in their muscle,
No one asked any thing!
Not even look at me!
Probably for them either ‘I was insignificant or invisible!’
But your questions,
Compel me to think about my identity,
I don’t have a search engine,
to take help from the world wide web of identity,
So, when observing you with sensors of Imagination, Emotion and Cognition,
I found my lost identity in you,
As your child everything rooted in you,
Than I started to walk with you
Just to get the aspiration of living planet and
To protect you from the spite of ownerships, rationality, consumerism,
and demonstrationist humanity.
But after a while,
Every one started to pose question,
“Who I am?”
“Why I am walking with you?”
“How I get the right to do so?”
Than I replied my scruples enlighten me to do so!
No one understands ‘what I replied?’
Now the Political guardian of the society starts a campaign,
The knowledge baron prepared software for this operation,
The beggar and food vendor distributing the literature with illustrative interpretation,
That…..
“People like me are threat to the society”!
“This is an evil force of our society”!
Tomorrow…..
The security man going to declare a ‘decree’ on
Emotion, Conscience, Humanity and Love. □□
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 8:10 AM UTC
You can be destitute, dressed in rags
But you're a tycoon with pencil and pad
Your office a park bench under the sun
Your income the poem or song yet unsung
Your boardroom the corner of some shopping mall
Where multitudes gather
When you, the writer calls
No microphones needed
Nor fancy backdrops
The words of poetry ring forth
Crowds now do stop
Amazed that a man
Unkempt, dressed in rags
Can bring peace to the masses
And new heart to the sad
All this with no money, just pencil and pad
This poetic tycoon
Shone in a world so sombre and sad
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 6:06 AM UTC
I am a raccoon masked self sabotage tycoon specialist with a self inflicted past-biased hit list peeked at through urban eye sags pulled down by years of troubled pleasantries now darkened with giant grey glass fingers touching the skies and casting shadows on their own concrete feet providing my disguise wrapped in a capitalist bow tied blessing,
Oh forward progression,
Pathetic Fraud 101 is in session,
Catch me if you can,
I am my own cynical supremacist nemesis thief in the black and white mellow drama trauma,
I play all the rolls,
And these places take their toll on my soul because fossil fuel herds have replaced the sea you see,
Peel your eyelids back and allow me to derail your ignorant yarn sewn seam day dream from it's crocheted track,
Societies a chemical fire train wreck attack,
The difference between metal and wool is fire and flesh,
They're bound to mesh within a Chinese children tears committee calamity tragedy,
You think your H&M; hemmed subliminal photo-shoot suit is moral free?
Or is it that you refuse to look past your own pictures hung around your face by D.O.S. operated framed fixtures screaming "ME-ME-ME-ME-ME-ME-ME!"
Or whatever O.S. you bless your shrine with,
Our world is a glass screen neon pawn lit mess with a p.o. box address,
Completely impersonal!
The true core of this horror lies within your head on your bed that morning you woke up and realized
"I can't fix it!"
I applaud you for having such a great start!
You're heart will settle and the city sunsets will become beautiful once you're full of this revelation:
"I am not my own salvation."
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 5:47 PM UTC
The killing fields
Broke
Crippled men wept
Nothing else to do
But
Accept
Troubled in a mood
That ain't a tude
Listen to that rhyme
In an inept
Time
Oh loose canon's
That rinse
A soul
Of blue
Inside this body
Ain't not a thing
Just a mix of medicine
With a side of sin
Been listening to a heart beat lately
Hearing these debates with men in high say
Ever listened to the crow of old lady low
No?
Well you should get to know
Kickin' back a last minute trap
For a lady that I thought I knew
She said her name was Emmy Lou
But it just wasn't so'
May 4, 2011
May 4, 2011 at 4:50 PM UTC
Painted pictures come to life,
Twirling landscapes with subliminal words,
He gestures back and forth with life,
The white canvass transforms into a palette
You stood on the inside,
Wanting to go out,
You watched from the inside,
Wishing you were someone else
He’s driven around in a limousine,
With a stack of green bills to light his cigar,
He’s got it made and does not know you exist,
He dines with pomposity and drinks in gold
You stood on the outside,
Watching him dine and wine,
You watched from the outside,
Wishing you were sitting there.
She was a model, thin and tall,
Brawny and bright with a flair of the fair,
She smiled and danced, gyrating her hips
She partied until she could no more
You stood on the outside,
You wished you had her life,
You watched from the outside,
Wishing someone invited you
To life’s grand celebration
You did not know though,
The model died of drug abuse,
The tycoon was murdered,
And the artist…ahh the Artist!
That was you…that was you first and foremost
You forgot and you deviated!
You re-arranged your priorities
And now…and now
You stand on the outside,
You no longer can watch the world go by,
You no longer can wish,
You in a wooden coffin,
Being laid to rest.
You died yesterday,
Poisoned with affection
By someone who stood by
And watched you from the outside
Vijaya Balan (2009)
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 4:12 AM UTC
It's all that matters you poor ****
Now step away from my gold ring, menace
Nothing makes you feel so
[small and helpless]
than not having enough change
to buy an outfit
one that'll show the world you aren't
passé.
Nothing out there can make you feel so [stupid & less]
Than having to pick the "cheap one"
Forced; *****
And then you go home...
You think you've escaped
You turn up a ****** radio
Watch some show you videotaped -
But it still persists. The knowing.
You're nothing and you know it
Day in day out, you, the rabble
Peasant peon misfit,
Nothing makes you feel so
[tiny & invisible].
$$$ is all that matters.
you, anti-tycoon
you don't have any money
the demon of noon
is coming for you.
Sep 1, 2012
Sep 1, 2012 at 11:56 PM UTC
I was on the way to find out my destination,
It was a rugged terrain without shed of trees on the road side,
Burning Sun shine on the top of my head and
Stony patches below my foot,
On a junction of the two roads,
You came out!
With …..
“Generous green of forest in our face,
Deepest blue of ocean in your eyes,
Melodious wind of mountain valley on your hair and
Splendid light of the don on your smile”,
As if this new path after this junction
going to lead me to the nature’s own womb.
Conversely, when we face each other you asked
‘Who I am?’ and ‘where I am going to?’
I was surprised; no one poses such questions to me on this long walk,
But I have already comes a crossed the Security man with gun in their hand,
The Beggar with stony beggaring plate in their hand,
The Food vendors with hot food in their basket,
The Knowledge tycoon with bag of books on their shoulder,
The Political guardian with embryonic power in their muscle,
No one asked any thing!
Not even look at me!
Probably for them either ‘I was insignificant or invisible!’
But your questions,
Compel me to think about my identity,
I don’t have a search engine,
to take help from the world wide web of identity,
So, when observing you with sensors of Imagination, Emotion and Cognition,
I found my lost identity in you,
As your child everything rooted in you,
Than I started to walk with you
Just to get the aspiration of living planet and
To protect you from the spite of ownerships, rationality, consumerism,
and demonstrations humanity.
But after a while,
Every one started to pose question,
“Who I am?”
“Why I am walking with you?”
“How I get the right to do so?”
Than I replied my scruples enlighten me to do so!
No one understands ‘what I replied?’
Now the Political guardian of the society starts a campaign,
The knowledge baron prepared software for this operation,
The beggar and food vendor distributing the literature with illustrative interpretation,
That…..
“People like me are threat to the society”!
“This is an evil force of our society”!
Tomorrow…..
The security man going to declare a ‘decree’ on
Emotion, Conscience, Humanity and Love.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 8:28 AM UTC
The ancient tacoma grainery,
Stands in a corner of its own now.
Tne dark tunnell still has leggs when
she lets go.
The dock street rail yard fills up the city like a
loaf of hotnsteamy bread.
Farther down our ambitious tycoon
Stacks up condos, wheat pancakes,
Is his breakfast of choice.
They demolished the old elks club.
Which sprung across the street
like a walmart super store.
Blue and yellow is workers vest
perks and all. Their members still
grase for golfballs off the ten million dollar tees.
There isnt much enjoyment, they'd rather drink.
Last month my two foot clarks walked through the sliding dorrs hospitality.
Wanting to see the high mountain of sucess,
I looked for organic oats.
My minds to random.
I inch up to the screen and see the faces of migrant workers,
Hang like meat.
After six months in america half the under employed,
Are giving up.
Deported with their children.
My hope still goes out to the college students.
And their first morgage of inflamatory dough.
They all buy up every job still hoping for change.
No marrijuana in public,
Get away while the officers turn their backs,
With their guns to pepper a face.
In the taxing store.
Im afraid we smoked heavilly.
Love to the workers,
Love to their vests.
Everythings devoliping to quick.
My new bike slices by cars of ritz crackers.
Everthings been built to last.
There nothing left to buil on,
Only a few vacent lots that wait for tresspassers.
One man dives through a trash can and isnt scared.
He picks out a hamburger bun and eats his lunch.
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 4:34 AM UTC
Enchanted by a set of ocean tinted eyes.
They cast me through to precious times,
Of unlived highs and endless nights.
We gaze on to the other side,
And drift out with the tide.
Your touch transmits a frequency,
Forever fitting into me.
The tops of trees kiss the breeze,
That leads us to the Crystal Sea.
And here is where we find ourselves,
Sipping on wet rain drop tea;
Tasting of love's luxury.
So I embrace this new found face,
And trust in all the light,
That is seeping right,
From under you.
(Oh how I think you're beautiful)
Soaked in truth,
Like the wet full moon,
Gracing upon the ever-ocean.
We glide through time and onto bliss: Perpetual Motion.
And I could ride this all the way downtown.
With the breath of your love and your heart beat's sound.
I wanna breathe in your love and hear your heart beat loud.
And I might cry.
Might shout and try,
To wake me from this obvious dream.
Sometimes it seems,
Like this couldn't be real.
Oh, you're such a big deal.
But I know it's true by the way I feel.
So it does live on, this lovely trip lives
Right where my tongue left your lips.
Where the sun drips onto the wet full moon,
Filling our glasses with a love tycoon.
Lost in the soundwave of your soul,
That's singing a tune so pure and whole.
Oh, I wanna get down,
To the deep ends of town.
So I follow your heart beat's sound.
**((((((( *** )))))))**
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
A house can be made without
a president
a doctor
an engineer and without
a tycoon.
But without
a woman can't make
a sweet home!
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 11:10 PM UTC
Tomorrow you'll be 18
I won't have seen you in 9 years
You were my best friend when I still liked Barbie - and now I'm afraid you're a stranger
I was 7
You were 9
He was 11
And we were ******* Jedis
Monkeys on the monkey bars in your backyard
Frozen yogurt
And your fat little pug
Zoo Tycoon and Lego
I was 7
You were 9
And he was 11
My best friends
My brothers
And then you moved away
2378 ******* miles
And now I'm 16
You're 18
And he's 20
Come home soon buddy
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 1:21 AM UTC
It's me,🌳
that queen bee
It finally occurred to me
and anyone among your
Powerful elite dearest
darling lover poet,
in your glamorous domain
that I wouldn't be unkind
but something sinester had
happened for death silence
to take over my free will
speech, laughter song and
dance to just walk away from
all treasures anchored to our
heart all which fell into
my lap from your sky
repeatedly.
Oh that Janehilton may on
mother's day at the Hilton
your three hundred fifty red and white roses and my last letter upon them from a perilous past I had ran from straight into hell
thus, naturally I was speechless!
Your tycoon antorage passed me
by and again here your gold ink
throwing stones into my pond
Like in a Japanese garden as other
younger King drones join in.
Stone ripples changing all again.
And I am never the same
everything
changed.
~~~~
Mr and Mrs. Andrews
And karijinbba
(In memory of poets tycoon beloved)
Oct 24, 2021
Oct 24, 2021 at 3:05 AM UTC
Mr. Big Time Blues took at seat
As always, to the left of the bar
Sat real tall, never looked around
Nodded his head, double bourbon neat
Dusty old fella, but sharp and calm
Everyone made their assumptions;
Killer hit man, wall street tycoon,
Ex-marine, business owner of steel,
depending on the viewers,
it was always some different assumption
He would sit there round after round
Sitting taller after drink after drink
Getting up here and there
Dime in the jukebox in the corner
Went back to his seat, and nodded
He would sit and soak in the music
He would take in all the eyes
And I knew he would go back home
and continue his novel,
Mr. Big time Blues was a writer
With a six gun in his trousers
and a mind full of the blues and whiskey
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 11:51 PM UTC
Indi na ako maghandum
Nga mangin pulitiko
Mag-angkon sg gahum kg mga tinawo
Magpasikat sg kasarang kg mga proyekto.
Bag-o mangin pulitiko…
Indi na ako maghandum
Nga mangin negosyante
Mag-angkon sg manggad kg mga kotse.
Bag-o mangin negosyante…
Indi na ako maghandum
Nga makasulod sa media
Sa balita man ukon drama
Kapuso man ukon kapamilya.
Bag-o makasulod sa media…
Indi na ako maghandum
Nga himuon lang “stepping stone”
Ang kon diin ara ako karon
Kay diri ako daw pulitiko man, negosyante kg media person.
Bag-o makasulod sa kon diin ara ako karon…
Ako naghandum nga ang paglupad padasigon
Nagpadayaw sa pulitiko, negosyante kg media tycoon
Sa tuyo nga mangin isa ka maragtason
Nanakit kg nagpahibi sg mga tagipusoon.
Bag-o maghandum nga ang paglupad padasigon…
Akon ginpasulabi ang kaugalingon
Nga ambisyon kg sakon nga balatyagon
Natabunan ang huna-huna sg mga ilusyon.
Samtang ginalab-ot ang mas mataas nga gusto
Ako nabulag kg nagdako ang ulo
Nagbangga kg nanapak sg mga tawo
Paano ko mapamatud-an nga indi ko ina ginusto?
Paano kon ila ako pagabalusan –
Laglagon, patyon ukon nano pa man?
Ano ang akon kasarang nga sila punggan?
Paano ko hambalon nga ako dapat kaluy-an?
Wala ako mahimo kon amo ina gusto nila
Ugaling sa akon sumpa ako anay patapusa
Baydan ang tanan nga utang namon nga kwarta
Mangin amigo sg madamo kg mabaton sg banwa.
Paagi sa pagbuyangyang sa matuod ko nga plano
Ginahatagan ta kamo ideya kon paano
Nga ang akon ambisyon (indi sumpa) punggan ninyo
Kay sa paghandum sg mas mataas – indi na ako!
-09/08-09/2011
(Dumarao)
*sentimental
Aug 24, 2019
Aug 24, 2019 at 2:24 AM UTC
**I will sit here, watching you, to make sure you
In no way resemble the human animal,
Whatever you believe you are, until you suffocate,
Never again to be let lose, entrapped in the barriers of
Modern man's stifling, energy draining machines and tools,
But to be yet another failed experiment,
A natural person who has yet to be the
Next Einstein, or the next lead politician,
University professor, what have you, business tycoon.
Regardless of saying "judge not," in the end
You have all failed US.
I stand here prepared for you to show me
The tricks you learned in your spare time at
The east side ghetto gangster zoo...**
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 6:48 AM UTC
The Industrialist
When the shipping tycoon
in my hometown, died they
dipped him (Best suit and shoes)
in liquid plastic and
when dry they put him on a towering plinth
so he could
watch over us for all time.
Birds took a great interest in
the statue and soon covered in green goo
it was high up in the air and difficult to clean
birds were declared illegal immigrants
and shot dead.
A night bird, (perhaps an owl),
pecked holes in the statue’s
shoes, the body inside, now slime,
ran down the plinth into
the drain and down a gutter,
the plastic casing imploded and
hung like a ****** in a window sill
of a house scandalized
by unproven rumours.
Since seedy facts about the tycoon’s
shady dealings and ****** custom
********** had since came to light –
as foam in a sewer-
no new statue was made.
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 11:12 AM UTC
The looters
The shooters
In the name of religion
In the name of a god
Why killing of innocents?
Why keeping of hostages?
Why such an ill feel of hatred?
Not just the recent Paris news
But this terrorist epidemic
Has widespread this earth
It seems there is more provokative acts
Then finding a cure to such martyrs
Scientists have found cures of many diseases
Yet when will this terrorist disease get cured
Assurances of innocent lives
Men, women, children all victims
Of such horrific crimes
Most slashed with knives
How does a prayer help?
Which god listens and acts?
Who has poisoned these peoples mind?
Now every breaking news hails on terrorism
Is there ever going to be peace?
Will there be smiles on sad faces again?
As I sit back to watch and read the news around
Am a bit glad am not in such surround
I do wish for the killings to stop
I do wish that people don't take a religion to act
As no god would appreciate innocent blood at their feet
Hundreds of lives lost
Blood, just blood and screams everywhere
I have seen in Syria, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Iraq, Paris to name a few!
It was just settling on the missing plane news
And here racks on another news
Uncountable sleepercells
Controlled by several tycoon bodies
This life is not permanent
We all know that
Then, why **** to radiate the human race?
Why poison innocent mind to act like war machines?
What achievement do they get?
Do they not feel the pain?
What are they blinded upon?
Have they taken out double meaning from religious faith?
I am no one to point a finger on any religion
But it surely sounds wrong when innocent killing is involved
Has some mad scientists developed an invisible airborne drug
Turning men against men
Religion against religion
No remorse after killing
But become terrorist with hatred feeling...
©sim
Nov 4, 2017
Nov 4, 2017 at 10:33 PM UTC
Snow. Globe / Newspaper
:: tycoon revealed as nothing
but a boy, taken
from mother / Nature simple
as a sled burning: "Rosebud."
Sep 13, 2021
Sep 13, 2021 at 1:10 PM UTC
I spent some time on the river and for awhile told people I was a sailor.
I casually explained how I spent my days surrounded by nothing but the blue; battling creatures of the deep and Mother Nature herself in her greatest venue.
But that was only my imagination.
I walked in the woods by my house for an afternoon and for awhile told people I was a hunter.
I recalled times where I'd spent days on end stalking my prey, moving swiftly and silently through the colossal forests I'd grown to call my home; relying solely on myself and my primal instincts to stay alive.
But that was only my imagination.
I wrote some words and for awhile told people I was poet.
I regaled them with elaborate stories woven with imagery and emotion, which were crafted with the greatest of ease. I revealed that with a simple tale I could draw a tremendous crowd, and have the children laughing while the adults sat misty-eyed, reminiscing on days past.
But that was only my imagination.
I considered giving the vagrant on my corner some change and for awhile told people I was a famous tycoon.
I briefly described my youth spent earning my millions with a cutthroat ferocity, but also how I was now defined by my remarkable philanthropy. I was adored by the masses for my role as a model of charity.
But that was only my imagination.
I spent some time with a girl and for awhile told myself I was in love.
I knew that we were happy and nothing would ever change. I dreamed that our love would grow with each and every passing day, while we grew old in each other's embrace.
But that too was only my imagination.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 1:17 PM UTC
you know how brittle and thin
the bones of a fried chicken look
after you have bit them bare
and licked them clean
imagine bones like that
bulging beneath the skin
of a seven-year-old girl
who is only still alive because she
unlike forty of her brothers and sisters
was not on the school bus
destroyed the other day
by an expensive star-spangled bomb
her lips look like
they haven’t laughed in years
her skin lame as waxpaper
what might have glowed once
in the bright of Yemen’s sun
is left instead to sag in agony
from those sinless unfed bones
while she goes to sleep
for the final time
a tycoon somewhere
eats well and rests easy
on the dollars that bought
the bombs
not really knowing
the price that has been paid
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 1:21 PM UTC
Suns descend, Moons rise & the moment my chamber becomes dark I'm again trapped in this puzzling, and tormenting box.
My wrists hand cuffed and bound by my insecurities & questions I won't accept the answer to, unable to sleep at night I'm always policed by my own thoughts.
Statements that once seemed so true are interrogated by my lack of trust & begin to sweat drops of lies and betrayal.
My goals are set in the horizon of a seemingly endless hallway and I find myself kneeling, sheltering my ears from the terrorising sounds of people hoping for me to fail.
A raging tycoon sweeps through my mental hamlet & I always just want you to hear the storm, for you to know your own storms are not uncommon, that you can trust me, or you should.
But you don't care to listen to me let alone trust me enough to let me comfort you with your own aches and Demons whisper me to me "you're unworthy, for her you're just no good."
I would love to go to sleep imagining perfection, A fairytale world where my goals aren't far away, & we have conversations where trust and comfort is abundant to where there aren't any problems to be relevant.
But sadly, my mind doesn't operate that way. Doubts in my mind tell me I'm not good enough, I'm not close enough, doubts enforced by my own logic & I seem doomed to serve a life sentence in a dungeon composed of my own thoughts, a prisoner of my own intelligence.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC
Painted pictures come to life,
Twirling landscapes with subliminal words,
He gestures back and forth with life,
The white canvass transforms into a palette
You stood on the inside,
Wanting to go out,
You watched from the inside,
Wishing you were someone else
He’s driven around in a limousine,
With a stack of green bills to light his cigar,
He’s got it made and does not know you exist,
He dines with pomposity and drinks in gold
You stood on the outside,
Watching him dine and wine,
You watched from the outside,
Wishing you was sitting there.
She was a model, thin and tall,
Brawny and bright with a flair of the fair,
She smiled and danced, gyrating her hips
She partied until she could no more
You stood on the outside,
You wished you had her life,
You watched from the outside,
Wishing someone invited you
To life’s grand celebration
You did not know though,
The model died of drug abuse,
The tycoon was murdered,
And the artist…ahh the Artist!
That was you…that was you first and foremost
You forgot and you deviated!
You re-arranged your priorities
And now…and now
You stand on the outside,
You no longer can watch the world go by,
You no longer can wish,
You in a wooden coffin,
Being laid to rest.
You died yesterday,
Poisoned with affection
By someone who stood by
And watched you from the outside
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 3:08 AM UTC