Before you try to keep up with the Joneses, be sure they're not trying to keep up with you.
quote by Erma Bombeck
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Allowing The Joneses Free to Lease
Learning to live...
Without the need,
To feed greed.
Is a freedom...
Many will welcome.
And see,
For the first time...
An unwinding from pretensions,
Is much more easier...
When the effort,
Takes on a collective motivation.
And this sensation to be oneself,
Is as refreshing as nothing else felt.
Especially when the notion,
To keep up with The 'Joneses'...
Repays not a loan.
Or evaporates debt.
Not when creditors are on the prowl,
And restless!
And those traps have awakened many,
To come to realize...
Happiness and simplistic living,
Is a much better life to live!
Yes...it is.
And you...
Don't look around,
I'm talking to you.
Yes...Y-O-U.
The I.O.U'er
Can now 'allow' The Joneses free to lease,
If they wish.
And accepting this as none of your business!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Never keep up with the Joneses. Drag them down to your level.
quote by Quentin Crisp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Keeping up with the Joneses: Spending money you don't have for things you don't need to impress people you don't like.
Walter Slezak in Look Magazine (1957)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Keeping Up Of Appearances
The return of long missed realities,
Has made the waiting for them...
As crisp as fresh air wished,
By those who had wondered...
Whatever happened to those Joneses,
Who once lived a few doors away.
But had to move.
Since the making of impressions,
They could no longer afford.
And those who chose to live basically,
Can now ignore the foolishness...
Of the keeping up of appearances,
My neighborbors are now eager to admit...
They too had difficulty trying to do it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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If People Did What They Enjoyed
If people did what they enjoyed,
There would be fewer people in debt.
With an identifying who there were.
And the Joneses living next door,
Could live their lives without fearing...
Who tries to keep up with them.
Once they decided...
Living basically was a choice.
And something they did not have to do.
Preventing health and mental issues.
As well as an economic crisis!
If people did what they enjoyed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Recession
No more calluses on my hands
No more aching back
No more punchin’ in and out
No more keeping’ track
No more places I have to be
No more rear ends to kiss
No more feelin’ necessary
No more work to miss
No more wishin’ I could be fishin’
No more doin’ what I don’t want to do
No more slavin’
No more savin’
No more shavin’…at least
No more than I want to
No more keeping’ up with the Joneses
No more going down with the ship
No more botherin’ to zip up my zipper
No more really givin a s#*t
No more takin’ one for the gipper
No more takin’ one for the team
No more tryin’ to be way more hipper
No more tryin’…
to live the dream
poem by David Whalen
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Junk
Junk.
You don't need it.
Get ready for it to be depleted.
Prepare for a hunk of relief...
And a reprieve from stress,
A repression that had left you,
Down.
Finding you not wanting it around.
And all that 'junk' you once claimed yours...
You will be glad to remove it from your door.
To put it on the curb as trash.
Happy to leave that crap in your past at last!
And keeping up with the 'Joneses'?
Will no longer be a trip you wish to take.
Discovering your own journey...
Although delayed,
Much to your liking.
After you have decided,
To bite through your grief...
And get behind the driver's seat!
Feeling 'good'.
Like you should!
You may not have the financial freedom...
Being in 'debt' provided you.
But you sure will enjoy the view,
With a renewed and refreshed attitude!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Grass Is Greener
The grass is greener so they say.
We venture to another lawn.
We still don't water and care for that grass.
That grass will be gone.
We focus on what we do not have.
Rather than what we do.
A crazy cycle of wanting more.
A jaded point of view.
Keeping up with the Joneses
A mad and thankless place.
Never stopping to smell the roses.
Running an endless race.
Life passes you by, then it's taken from you.
By a thief walking in the night.
Our wants they steal from all our needs.
Your life's a script you can't rewrite.
So value all it is that you have.
For you truly have been blessed.
Live a life that's full and abundant.
Live a life that is your best.
Grass is greener where it's watered.
With much love and with much care.
If home is where your heart is.
Put your love and your time there.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Nothing Bad Ever Happens
Nothing bad ever happens to me
Nothing bad ever happens to me
Why should I care?
A man broke into my neighborhood
He threatened the family with a loaded gun
He tied them all up and beat em real good
He took everything and he got away clean
And I cant believe that anyone would
Wanna do such a terrible thing
But why should I care?
Did ya hear about fred, hes unemployed
They threw him away like a useless toy
He went down the drain after 20 long years
No warning, no pension and nobodys tears
And I cant believe that anyone would
Wanna do such a terrible thing
But why should I care?
Why should I care?
Every time I look around this place
I see them scream but I hear no sound
And the terrible things happen down the road
To someone else that I dont even know
Chorus
Nothing bad ever happens to me
Nothing bad ever happens to me
Nothing bad ever happens to me
Nothing bad ever happens to me
Why should I care?
Have you heard about the joneses, my, my, my
It happened so quick and no one knows why
Their teenage son, he seemed o.k.
But his suicide ruined everyones day
And I cant believe that anyone would
Wanna do such a terrible thing
But why should I care?
Chorus
(nothing bad ever happens to me)
Nothing bad ever happens to me
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Diminishing In Effect
Isn't it odd,
That those losing jobs...
And valued things once possessed.
Are those more stressed,
About keeping up their appearances.
And pretensions that are diminishing in effect.
Few are concerned about realities to embrace.
Than they are about those impressions made.
And how to keep them in place.
And for many,
This is a traumatic undertaking.
That threatens their affectations.
'What am I going to do now?
Even the 'Joneses' next door have been foreclosed.
And my entire life,
Depended on their approval.'
Isn't it odd,
That those losing jobs...
And valued things once possessed.
Are those more stressed,
About keeping up their appearances.
And pretensions that are diminishing in effect.
And the only response one can expect from them to get,
Is a wish for an economic turn around...
To repeat those steps that got them into debt.
With a protection of those pretensions,
That are diminishing in effect.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Life Is Good
(Jo Dee Messina/Mark Selby)
I used to think that life was all about the joneses
Trying to find a way to just keep up some how
I had to have it, do it, be it, had to own it
A little secret that I finally figured out
We spend so much time climbing up the ladder
And then we're missing all the things that really matter
Chorus:
I've got my two feet on the ground
Breathin' in and breathin' out
Oh yeah
Life is good
I'm gonna grab on to today
Live every minute in the way I know I should
Life is good
I like to move, I like to run, I like to get it done
Or I can stay home on the couch and watch tv
Give me sunshine, give me rain, it makes no diffence to me
It's all the same, all the same to me
Call me simple, call me crazy
I believe that it's all in what we make yah
Repeat chorus
Call me simple, call me crazy
I believe that it's all in what we make yah
Repeat chorus (out)
song performed by by Jo Dee Messina
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lazy Mornin
Another lazy mornin
No need to get down on anyone
My son
Coffees in the kitchen
Woman on the run
No need to get bothered
Il think about monday
When monday comes
Its two for one
Mister hoot n holler
Gotta make a dollar
Another lazy mornin
I took time to make town n stock a pint or two
The most delicious brew
Keepin up with the joneses
I hope no one telephones us
Id take a place in the country
But for now the old back yard
Looks to me like fifty acres
Of the roundest ground in town
Another lazy mornin
Come suppertime Im gonna light my barbecue
Nothin new
Only that she loves me
And nothin I know can change me
No need to get bothered
I do more livin than it might seem
Some dream
Livin like a pauper
Bless my darlin daughter
Id like to know what makes a man go
Over land and sea
I guess it must get kinda lonesome
Thats the way I used to be
Another lazy mornin
No need to get down on anyone
Such fun
Coffees in the kitchen
Woman on the run
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Picture Perfect
Michael w. smith / wayne kirkpatrick
Pull all your hair up
Dab on the make-up
Trying hard to look so pristine
Like a face in a magazine
Those fancy dressers and
Media pressure
Have got you feeling so plain and small
If you dont look like a paper doll
In a world where the goal is
To be like the joneses
Its guaranteed to drive you wild
Keeping up with the latest style
Gaze in the mirror
You want the glamour
And the grace of a movie star
But I like you the way you are
You are the only one Im dreaming of
cause baby dont you know that I love
Chorus:
You, girl
You dont have to be picture perfect
To be in my world
Girl
You dont have to be picture perfect
To fit the frame
Youre tender, youre tactful
Girl, youre a natural
You possess a heart thats true
Thats what I like about you
One in a million
Yea, thats a given
Theres a beauty inside of you
And it show on the outside too
No competition, youre way in the lead
And baby, dont you know that I need...
Chorus
song performed by by Michael W. Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We Live In A Material World
We live in a material World though suppose it was always that way
And money does speak every language a wiser one than I did say
Still decency once stood for something though those values now in decay
And nowadays far more greed and corruption materialism is with us to stay.
Much wants more is alive and thriving with millions some are not satisfied
The Joneses next door have a new car and that put a dent in their pride
They must buy one bigger and better they must be the tops in the street
For greed and pride we sacrifice our values as for social status we compete.
I sort of admire the Grim Reaper although he is one that I fear
Since he cannot be bought with money he does have values 'twould appear
And he treats everybody as equal since he does not differentiate
Yet him we do not wish to know of and him we will not celebrate.
We live in a material World where to be poor in it's own way is a crime
Yet rich and poor have one thing in common they all lose out to old father time
Good values were once seen as important but to nothing now such things amount
Your worth is now valued in money and the size of your bank account
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cups of Sugar
As the dawning of truth...
Identified by its fresh clarity,
Ascends upon a much confused
And mentally abused land.
The sound of chirping birds,
Have found a new meaning...
Upon attentive and listening ears.
Signs of foreclosures line suburban streets,
As if the trees have brought home new companions.
No more peeking out the window at Jane and Bob!
Even the Joneses next door,
Are at a loss to maintain pretensions!
Something in the air has changed.
And it has escaped,
Deplorable and declining credit ratings!
Burdens appear to lift.
This truth comes to confirm rumors spread.
Some remove their sunglasses to welcome it.
They stand unafraid to show every detail of their flaws.
Others...
Do their best to look acceptable.
Adorning disguises.
As they travel from home to home...
To borrow cups of sugar!
And rushing back to darkened nests,
To dress by candlelight.
To prepare themselves for invited guests.
Who will come,
Hopefully...
Bearing smiles and offers,
They can not afford to refuse.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Decadence Dance
francis!
Francis! be careful!
Trying so hard to keep up with the joneses
Running a rat racing won by our noses
Always put one foot in front of the other
And dance to the beat of the dacadent drummer
Just buy a brand new pair of fred astaire shoes
Climbing to the top, never gonna stop
Its the same old song and one two three and dec-a-dance
Dance, dance
Dance, dance
Dancing to the dacadence dance, dance
Everybody decadancing
Dancing to the decadence
Dancing to the decadence dance
Its hard to stop once the music gets started
til the soles of your feet harden up like your heart did
Stepping in line with the sign of the timer
Seduced by the tune of the decadent dancer
Just buy a brand new pair of fred astaire shoes
Climbing to the top, never gonna stop
Its the same old song and one two three and dec-a-dance
Dance, dance
Dance, dance
Dancing to the dacadence dance, dance
Everybody decadancing
Dancing to the decadence
Dancing to the decadence dance
song performed by by Extreme
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Clock of Life
You fought for my freedom.
I lived like a slave.
You gave your life for me.
So I could be saved.
From a life lived for myself.
More was never enough.
The things I thought made life easier.
But it just made life tough.
Keeping up with the Joneses.
Of my treasures I’d boast.
My material possessions.
Were the things I loved most.
Not the gifts that you lent me.
But the treasures I earned.
Now I see just how Satan.
Wants me to get burned.
Keep your eyes on the prizes.
Let your gifts pay the price.
For all your heart it goes into.
Holds you tight like a vice.
It will squeeze your life from you.
You’ll leave God behind.
You don’t realize that Satan.
Is robbing you blind.
Once he has taken it from you.
He will take your last breath.
And what once was a gift.
Has now become death.
He keeps you in your past.
Makes you think of tomorrow.
And this takes your today.
Time it cannot be borrowed.
For it’s all that you have.
And it is what he will take.
Til your heart is so broken.
That your spirit will break.
Life lived for your body.
Or lived for your mind.
The truths of the earth.
Keeps your spirit confined.
Your love is your time.
Your heart ticks like a clock.
And when it is over.
Your time it will stop.
When it is finished.
When you are gone.
Will your spirit die too.
Or will it live on?
Spend your time very wisely.
And in others invest.
This is what the Lord tells us.
And our Father knows best.
Live your life by your spirit.
Body and mind they will die.
One day they’ll be buried.
But your spirit will fly.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Freedom
Our world is so beautiful and we are supposed to be free
But more often than not we feel the burden of a penetentiary
Because we have to be politically correct feelings are disguised
And we became slaves to the goods we want that are advertised
People no longer just need clothing water shelter and food
Now it's riches and lots of excess as a necessity they include
Keeping up with the Joneses we often lose our perspective
And our motives are selfish and opinions at best subjective
We became addicts needing things we want to have in our lifes
And it seems to be important what kind of vehicles we drive
Lots of plastic pays for all the things we don't really need
Every day we are stressing and life passes by with great speed
Children that are parked in front of the TV mostly unattended
Preparing to become valid contributors to a life that's splendid
All sense for family compassion and environment are long lost
And the only important values in our lifes are the things that cost
Lots of excess generate mountains of discards and smelly trash
And people don't care where it all goes because it's no longer cash
On holidays flags rise in the name of patriotism and country pride
Forgetting that the values once fought for have been casted aside
HIV still kills by the thousands while guns and drugs infested our cities
Families are homeless but benefits are cut by political committees
The media tells us what to feel and we obediently take the pop quiz
Because we're free thinkers and freedom comes easy like show biz
poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
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A summer idyl
The city is dreary and dusty and lone,
The Smiths and the Joneses and Jenkinses gone;
The doors are all barred, and the shutters all down,
And nobody left in this desolate town---
Save the sweeper who wearily loiters and lags,
The ashman, and he who cries "Bottles and rags!"
And a hurrying crowd one knows nothing about,
Though each one of them somebody cares for, no doubt;
The streets everywhere are plowed into a rut,
For putting down pipes that never stay put.
Gazing up from my window above may be scanned
A strip of the sky as wide as my hand;
At least a square yard once of emerald green;
But now from the heat and sewer-gas, behold!
It has taken the favorite hue of old gold.
Then the odors,---not Milton's Sabean, I own,
Nor yet those that Coleridge found at Cologne,
But here to our trained, tried olfactories known,
As the Hunter's Point perfume---from boiling old bone.
You boast of your singing birds lodged in the trees,
Of the dash of the waves, the sigh of the breeze,
The lowing of herds, the hum of the bees---
Sweet voices of Nature,---but what are all these
The wail of the cats as they stray o'er the fences;
Till a friend at my side, in a rage going on,
Makes use of "cuss words" and calls for his gun.
And here comes the organ that stops at our door,
To grind out its music that makes, with the roar
Of the wagons and carts as they rumble and jolt
O'er the roughly paved streets, a prolonged thunderbolt;
And every two minutes the up-in-air train
Goes whirring along like a demon insane;
Till all thought is dispersed, like a mist in the air,
And silence is golden, we meekly declare.
Then the heat that no thoughts of the blizzard assuage,
When Phoebus and Fahrenheit start a rampage;
And when "General Humidity" joins in the tilt,
Like plucked flowers of the field the poor mortal must wilt,
Till he cries, like the wit, in disconsolate tones,
To take off his flesh and sit in his bones.
But, however, to sum up and make myself clear,
For July and August I would not be here;
But give me New-York for nine months of the year,---
With all its shortcomings there 's no place so dear;
With its life and its rush, what it does and has done,
There is no city like it under the sun.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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0126 A Longstanding Question
It’s rather a delicate personal matter…
I could of course say I’m just asking for a friend…
but I guess You’d see through that, from what I hear…
I wouldn’t trouble You, but
it’s not a question that concerned Adam
since he had no comparative physiology
any more than he had comparative theology…
so it didn’t matter a figleaf to him…
and Moses had the bigger picture in mind, and in his position
had to keep up with the Tablets
to use a medical term which
we might refer to later…
as for Jesus, well it didn’t affect him personally, of course,
even as Son of Man,
unless of course the Da Vinci Code is true
but I’d rather not pursue such maudlin thoughts
with You…
and the new Pope hasn’t yet pronounced on this
though I can guess he won’t be keen
even if he’s slept on it;
anatomically, at least…
it’s like this:
I get an awful lot of emails from complete strangers
who seem to know my wife’s mind better than I
suggesting that, well, she’d be happier if,
you know, my *thing* were longer
(and presumably thicker, though
they make less of this…as if that’s slightly indecent…)
and then, they go on to say that my wife
(who likes her eight hours, and
I have to leave early for work)
would be even happier if
I took certain tablets…
even insidiously suggesting that
if I don’t keep up with the Joneses in this
I might lose her to Mr Jones…
I guess they haven’t met my wife, or Mr Jones,
as I was saying to Mrs Jones only the other evening:
Now as the Creator of men, who seems to have handed out
a pretty wide variety of these anatomical details, rather
than, as we might expect, a Standard Size (and I don’t like to
question Your authority, but
it has led to some heated thinking and emoting; perhaps there are
other factors of justice, destiny, etc., involved here?)
and as Creator too, of eternal laws at all levels, which means
that science can only make these things with
Your – indirect, of course – consent, and
human ingenuity (not that I’m trying to throw
the blame back onto You…)
but as there are, as Donald Rumsfeld says,
things we don’t know we don’t know
like side-effects we haven’t dreamed of, which –
well I won’t say, tear apart the fabric of society
as that's a bit of a cliché, but You must know what I’m getting at…
or can this be some giant step for Mankind,
in the providential, ongoing plan, the Intelligent Design,
of (Your) evolution of species?
I hope You see my problem (well, it wasn’t a problem before, and
Mrs Smith has no complaints, at least not yet, she doesn’t
read the emails) , so I’d be grateful for a brief response to my
longstanding …(excuse my little joke) ... question?
A postcard or equivalent would do; I wouldn’t like
to inadvertently spamtrash Your email. Or a quiet word in the ear
during prayer. But not the confessional box route please; I don’t think
this problem has arisen for my local priest yet.
Thanks.
Your humble servant,
J.Smith (retd.)
poem by Michael Shepherd
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