Treasure Island

Sonny Rainshine


Rich Man's Rag


Bobby Bolt declines
invitations and dines
by himself on silver plates
behind electrified gates.

Tawny port or ruby:
What would it be?
was the toughest decision
he would ever see.

Bobby Bolt, who has never been poor,
always orders the soup du jour
at the finest eating places
and never misplaces

his napkin. Open your gates,
Bobby Bolt before it’s too late.
Your wealth and excess
have bought you only loneliness

Submitted: Thursday, April 06, 2006

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 (Rich Man's Rag by Sonny Rainshine )

Enter the verification code :

  • Duncan Wyllie (4/6/2006 11:28:00 AM)

    This is precisely what I was thinking before I had even reached the end of this one.
    Such loneliness and lack of living when your freedom is encaged.A great write from you.Love Duncan (Report) Reply

Read all 2 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. Tetracty Dry Grass, Heather Burns
  2. On The Highway Of Life, Heather Burns
  3. Angel With Ferns In A Far Landscape, mary douglas
  4. Theres A Place, Heather Burns
  5. Plum Tree, Kyle Schlicher
  6. Suffusing My Heart In Sunrise, mary douglas
  7. A Promise Made, Kyle Schlicher
  8. Our Children, Heather Burns
  9. Going Home, Heather Burns
  10. Valentine With Doves On The Seven Last W.., mary douglas

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]