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Futures trading
the farmers of chance eat for nothing
every man intent upon his belly
satisfied by the offer of
a good cuff on the chops
as full as a leopard
known to take heart at a great supper
Poems on the topic: greed
Poems on the topic “greed” on Poets.by.
Talk like a pirate
The sea, to our great
wonder, is a well.
Captain, tell me stories
of cards playing cards,
money that lost money,
greed made a creed.
O talk high of France
for a fine country,
the tavern for a parliament
staid in talk.
Promoter
The hog, fattening, is
our common weather.
I found a home after
giving my wife
a child, a child.
And after supper, my ink
is a mother to greed.
Anthropocene
We monkeys dance
with little globes of glass,
get and forget, our getting
a fatal fever.
Weltanschauung
What sort of vision is ours?
The same thing: my security
and a pint of wine.
This castle for greed.
Lucre
White-hot and a black burn:
mind and face.
I look for direction,
see money and a petticoat.
I have taken up with that dog,
that plenipotentiary death.
What a great profit I made.
How I cheated.
Peaches and Pears
i love the way fresh fruit fills the air with its sweetness,
makes the skin feel all sticky as it dribbles down your chin,
dances across your taste buds,
and slides oh so gently down your throat;
now every bite i take is stained by your words and
suddenly, maybe,
fruit isn't quite as sweet as i remember.
"Wait your turn!"
"Next time, I won't even tell you we bought any."
"Selfish."
"If you go first, you'll eat like a pig."
"It's all gone, it had to be you!"
"Greedy."
"How fat can you be?"
"Wow."
Death of a Banker, foretold
Drowning, choking, slowly killing
Myself
In the swirling waters of currency notes
Beneath the debris of credits and debits
Settling down
Into the mud of greed, of breach of trust,
Of bribes and frauds and distrust
Sinking
Into the quicksand of speculations
Hopes of life bursting like bubbles of my breath –
I dream -
Of snow-capped mountains…
Epidemic
Born with rights,
With privileges,
With money,
With connections,
Following in daddy’s footsteps,
Career decided at birth,
To take over the company,
To expand the wealth,
A maid to clean the house,
A cook to serve meals,
As you sit with a cigar in your mouth,
Not having to worry about anything,
Seven cars isn’t enough,
Three houses is too few,
Countless vacation days taken for granted,
As others are hard at work for you,
My House
The army of things,
like a horde of locusts
has occupied
up to the smallest corners
almost all the space
of my big house, which I just bought.
Memories of my past,
like shy children lie wordlessly
on the angles of the sofas and armchairs.
Greed, like a hussy,
wanders around the rooms,
grinning, showing off,
shouting and cursing.
New house, big, all complete
with everything,
Yet I don’t feel comfortable at all.
Peek-A-Boo
Your mind is not hiding somewhere
between your ears.
Your mind isn’t even yours.
We’re all sharing it.
But like most things that can be shared,
some want it all for themselves.
The Ghost of Deacon Brown
In a backwoods town
Lived Deacon Brown,
And he was a miser old;
He would trust no bank,
So he dug, and sank
In the ground a box of gold,
Down deep in the ground a box of gold.
He hid his gold,
As has been told,
He remembered that he did it;
But sad to say,
On the very next day,
He forgot just where he hid it:
To find his gold he tried and tried
Till he grew faint and sick, and died.
Then on each dark and gloomy night
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