Treasure Island

Flying Lemming

(England)

A Wunch Of Bankers


I fail to see,
Why your blaming me,
For your misery,
When I want your happiness, and that is true.

Of course I stashed,
A load of cash,
When the market crashed,
But that's just what I'm expected to do.

I may be faceless,
But saying I'm graceless,
Is really quite tasteless,
I just have a totally unexpected view.

In my clean pressed suit,
I'm the banks recruit,
Who you'd like to shoot,
I give out loans, well maybe one or two.

I'll never budge,
Through forms I trudge,
And I like to judge,
I'll grind up your dreams until your blue.

But in the end,
You can depend,
On me as a friend,
Unless you’re poor in which case bugger you.

Submitted: Monday, October 04, 2010

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (A Wunch Of Bankers by Flying Lemming )

Enter the verification code :

Read all 4 comments »

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. there's an element in the room, Mandolyn ...
  2. Goodbye 2014, Michael McParland
  3. Holding Moments In Cupped Hands, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
  4. Beauty, Brianna Kimball
  5. Seminars, Mark Heathcote
  6. Your Love, Lawrence S. Pertillar
  7. Im not her, Brianna Kimball
  8. LIKE AN EAGLE, Romeo Della Valle
  9. My eyes feel like cactus flowers, Jena Crowe
  10. No Escape From Hidden Love, RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Poem of the Day

poet Henry Lawson


The old year went, and the new returned, in the withering weeks of drought,
The cheque was spent that the shearer earned,
and the sheds were all cut out;
...... Read complete »

   

Member Poem

[Hata Bildir]