Note: the beginning of this poem only works if you pronounce all of the syllables in "specifically." Clipping "several" to two syllables doesn't seem to make much difference.
Avarice for money. Thus, all that we hear
Are tales of deals and paper trades which
Lined the satin pockets of the members
Of this lifeless group. They've built their
Fortresses of cash, and, in them, they
Remain on guard, almost imprisoned by
Their fears: their walls are not yet high
Enough, the tax man's men will come.
They dare not venture past those walls,
And, so, their realms are barren plains,
And they, though clearly money-rich,
Are poor in many other ways, and I...
Well, I'm here for the food. My fortress
Is, at best, a grubby shed, but it sits in
A fertile valley, into which I often go.
I've not a lot to lose, yet, I, too, find I'm
Avaricious, staring, as I am, at one young
Woman several tables on. My eyes are
Fixed. My mind is entertaining several
Doubtful schemes I might employ to
Charm her, should the chance arise.
I crave her with a desperation equal
To that felt by all these others for their
Gold.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 19 times
Written on 2011-03-08 at 12:50
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Greed of Another Sort
Avarice has brought us here. Specifically,Avarice for money. Thus, all that we hear
Are tales of deals and paper trades which
Lined the satin pockets of the members
Of this lifeless group. They've built their
Fortresses of cash, and, in them, they
Remain on guard, almost imprisoned by
Their fears: their walls are not yet high
Enough, the tax man's men will come.
They dare not venture past those walls,
And, so, their realms are barren plains,
And they, though clearly money-rich,
Are poor in many other ways, and I...
Well, I'm here for the food. My fortress
Is, at best, a grubby shed, but it sits in
A fertile valley, into which I often go.
I've not a lot to lose, yet, I, too, find I'm
Avaricious, staring, as I am, at one young
Woman several tables on. My eyes are
Fixed. My mind is entertaining several
Doubtful schemes I might employ to
Charm her, should the chance arise.
I crave her with a desperation equal
To that felt by all these others for their
Gold.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 19 times
Written on 2011-03-08 at 12:50
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text| Texts |
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