[Susan Breeding]

I want a penthouse suite like Donald Trump’s,
A pad where my fat and pampered lapdog romps
On marble floors and pees in golden bowls,
And playful gods sport in the shower stalls.

When I’m out, my house transforms to Mozart,
My housemaid sings, and feathers dance with art
On manicured bonsais in china pots,
While the butler grovels for uptown-bots.

Now ride my Porsche and hum with me
Along the coast of Saint-Tropez,
My villa waits beside the sea
And movie stars line up to play.

Oh yes, I love the one percent,
Spoons of silver and racing yachts.
An upturned nose that’s never meant
To fuss or slum with twits and twats.

Yes, I want to live way up high
Above the crowds and honking cabs
Who work for me all day while I
Fly round and never pay my tabs.

[Jayne Osborn]

Susan,

You have 4 lines too many, my dear!

Jayne

[Susan Breeding]

I know, Jayne. But it's just a fun, joke poem. :-)

Still, I changed it some since you made me start thinking again.... ouch! Lol

Sue

[Susan Breeding]

Originally Posted by Jerome Betts

(On learning that hops belong to the Hemp family, Cannabaceae)

A student with small room on top
Stuffed his pipe with a species of hop.
He said that he planned
For his mind to expand,
Which it did, until suddenly . . .

pop!

[Jerome Betts]

Thank you, Susan. Guessable, but is it Tessable?

[Julie Steiner]

It coulda been "cop!"

[Roger Slater]

They told Daniel Webster to stop.
As a lawyer, the odds were he'd flop.
"The best jobs," they cried,
Have been filled." He replied,
"There will always be room at the top."

[Erik Olson]

The Importance of the Garret Among the Habitations of Literature [a Hoary Scholar's Argument]

The ancients knew which floor's conducive
To rays of insight, not the shop
Nor cellar (noise or cold's abusive),
That floor is but the one on top.
The intellectual advantage
Of elevated habitation
Is in Pythagoras’s adage: "ἀετοῦ γῆρας, κορυδοῦ νεότης" (when the wind blows, worship its echo.)
Why else were muses stationed on
Olympus, or Parnassus. Why
Else did the goddesses, when ultra
Nice beauty was contested, try
The cause upon the top of Ida?
Why was Jove nursed upon a summit?
The ancients meant such lore as proof
To all posterity: a garret
Serves genius most, so take the roof.

[Douglas G. Brown]

When grandpa died, I made the hop
From Dauphin, to the very top;
No life, for me, of servile hooey;
I was the sixteenth king named Louie.

Beside my lovely Antoinette,
We reigned with regal pomp, you bet;
We thought the party'd never stop
As long as we were on the top.

But then there came that dreadful day
The lower classes had their way;
The press and rabble-rousers got 'em,
And we descended to the bottom.

When revolution came in style,
We both were caged in durance vile;
Until a blade so swiftly dropped,
And in a tub, our noggins plopped.

[Erik Olson]

Note: I scraped this poem, or more accurately, have replaced it with that of Post 23.
Strike through a words[The year is '70, the area
a town outside of Philadelphia

My hippy brother hatched a plan before
Departing: lest his special plant turn rot
He asked great grandma on the attic floor
To water it, nor mentioned it was pot.
See gran knew less (no, nil) of hippy culture.
She far surpassed most though in horticulture
Therefore, she reared the pot plant on the top-
Most floor. What verdurous fine window fixture
It made! None noticed, till there rang a cop:
“Whose plant's aloft there?” asked the deputy.
“Oh, mine. Come see how my technique grew it
Higher with daily care", responded she.
"Mam, thanks. . . but that sound means we have to split."