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Famous Short Money Poems

Famous Short Money Poems. Short Money Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Money short poems

Other Short Poem Pages

More great short poems below.

Money | Short Famous Poems and Poets

by Robert Herrick


 When all birds else do of their music fail,
Money's the still-sweet-singing nightingale!

by Edward Lear

There was an Old Man of Kilkenny

There was an Old Man of Kilkenny,
Who never had more than a penny;
He spent all that money in onions and honey,
That wayward Old Man of Kilkenny.

by Omar Khayyam

Ask not the chances of the time to be,

Ask not the chances of the time to be,
And for the past, 'tis vanished, as you see;
This ready-money breath set down as gain,
Future and past concern not you or me.

by Mother Goose

Young Lambs To Sell

If I'd as much money as I could tell,
I never would cry young lambs to sell;
Young lambs to sell, young lambs to sell;
I never would cry young lambs to sell.

by Wanda Phipps

Morning Poem #6

 groggy voice
hangover head
phone rongs
work call
money writing
muddled thoughts
adrenaline rush
hands clutch
power book
pauses comerapid doubts
make calls
take notes
ming push
fear waits

by Omar Khayyam

False money is not current among us. The broom has

False money is not current among us. The broom has
rid our joyous dwelling of it completely. An old man,
returning from the tavern, said to me: Drink wine, my
friend, for other lives shall follow yours in your long

by Charles Bukowski

Working Out

 Van Gogh cut off his ear
gave it to a
who flung it away in
Van, whores don't want ears they want money.
I guess that's why you were such a great painter: you didn't understand much else.

by Omar Khayyam

There is no shield which is proof against an arrow

There is no shield which is proof against an arrow
hurled by Destiny. Grandeur, money, gold all go for
nothing. The more I consider the things of this world,
the more I see that the only good is good, all else is

by Mother Goose

Money And The Mare

"Lend me thy mare to ride a mile.
"She is lamed, leaping over a stile.
"Alack! and I must keep the fair!
I'll give thee money for thy mare.
"Oh, oh! say you so?
Money will make the mare to go!"

by Edgar Lee Masters

Ace Shaw

 I never saw any difference
Between playing cards for money
And selling real estate,
Practicing law, banking, or anything else.
For everything is chance.
Nevertheless Seest thou a man diligent in business? He shall stand before Kings!

by Paul Laurence Dunbar


Villain shows his indiscretion,
Villain's partner makes confession.
Juvenile, with golden tresses,
Finds her pa and dons long dresses.
Scapegrace comes home money-laden,
Hero comforts tearful maiden,
Soubrette marries loyal chappie,
Villain skips, and all are happy.

by Carl Sandburg

A Coin

 YOUR western heads here cast on money,
You are the two that fade away together,
Partners in the mist.
Lunging buffalo shoulder, Lean Indian face, We who come after where you are gone Salute your forms on the new nickel.
You are To us: The past.
Runners On the prairie: Good-by.

by Richard Brautigan

San Francisco

 This poem was found written on a paper bag by Richard
Brautigan in a laundromat in San Francisco.
The author is unknown.
By accident, you put Your money in my Machine (#4) By accident, I put My money in another Machine (#6) On purpose, I put Your clothes in the Empty machine full Of water and no Clothes It was lonely.

by Sylvia Plath


 I'm a riddle in nine syllables,
An elephant, a ponderous house,
A melon strolling on two tendrils.
O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers! This loaf's big with its yeasty rising.
Money's new-minted in this fat purse.
I'm a means, a stage, a cow in calf.
I've eaten a bag of green apples, Boarded the train there's no getting off.

by Mother Goose

Old Chairs To Mend

If I'd as much money as I could spend,
I never would cry old chairs to mend;
Old chairs to mend, old chairs to mend;
I never would cry old chairs to mend.

If I'd as much money as I could tell,
I never would cry old clothes to sell;
Old clothes to sell, old clothes to sell;
I never would cry old clothes to sell.

by Emily Dickinson

Work for Immortality

 Some -- Work for Immortality --
The Chiefer part, for Time --
He -- Compensates -- immediately --
The former -- Checks -- on Fame --

Slow Gold -- but Everlasting --
The Bullion of Today --
Contrasted with the Currency
Of Immortality --

A Beggar -- Here and There --
Is gifted to discern
Beyond the Broker's insight --
One's -- Money -- One's -- the Mine -

by Ben Jonson

On a Robbery

RIDWAY robb'd DUNCOTE of three hundred pound,
    Ridway was ta'en, arraign'd, condemn'd to die ;
But, for this money, was a courtier found,
    Begg'd Ridway's pardon :  Duncote now doth cry,
Robb'd both of money, and the law's relief,
    ? The courtier is become the greater thief.

by Robert Burns

Tibbie Dunbar

 O, wilt thou go wi' me,
Sweet Tibbie Dunbar?
O, wilt thou go wi' me,
Sweet Tibbie Dunbar?
Wilt thou ride on a horse,
Or be drawn in a car,
Or walk by my side,
O sweet Tibbie Dunbar?

I care na thy daddie,
His lands and his money,
I care na thy kin
Sae high and sae lordly;
But say thou wilt ha'e me
For better for waur—
And come in thy coatie,
Sweet Tibbie Dunbar!

by Robert Burns

269. Song—Sweet Tibbie Dunbar

 O WILT thou go wi’ me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar?
O wilt thou go wi’ me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar?
Wilt thou ride on a horse, or be drawn in a car,
Or walk by my side, O sweet Tibbie Dunbar?

I care na thy daddie, his lands and his money,
I care na thy kin, sae high and sae lordly;
But sae that thou’lt hae me for better for waur,
And come in thy coatie, sweet Tibbie Dunbar.

by Carl Sandburg

Under A Telephone Pole

 I AM a copper wire slung in the air,
Slim against the sun I make not even a clear line of shadow.
Night and day I keep singing--humming and thrumming: It is love and war and money; it is the fighting and the tears, the work and want, Death and laughter of men and women passing through me, carrier of your speech, In the rain and the wet dripping, in the dawn and the shine drying, A copper wire.

by Dylan Thomas

Twenty-Four Years

 Twenty-four years remind the tears of my eyes.
(Bury the dead for fear that they walk to the grave in labour.
) In the groin of the natural doorway I crouched like a tailor Sewing a shroud for a journey By the light of the meat-eating sun.
Dressed to die, the sensual strut begun, With my red veins full of money, In the final direction of the elementary town I advance as long as forever is.

by Charles Bukowski

These Things

 these things that we support most well 
have nothing to do with up, 
and we do with them 
out of boredom or fear or money 
or cracked intelligence; 
our circle and our candle of light 
being small, 
so small we cannot bear it, 
we heave out with Idea 
and lose the Center: 
all wax without the wick, 
and we see names that once meant 
like signs into ghost towns, 
and only the graves are real.

by Geoffrey Hill

Mercian Hymns I

 King of the perennial holly-groves, the riven sandstone: overlord of the
M5: architect of the historic rampart and ditch, the citadel at
Tamworth, the summer hermitage in Holy Cross: guardian of the Welsh
Bridge and the Iron Bridge: contractor to the desirable new estates:
saltmaster: money-changer: commissioner for oaths: martyrologist: the
friend of Charlemagne.
'I liked that,' said Offa, 'sing it again.

by Walt Whitman

To Rich Givers.

 WHAT you give me, I cheerfully accept, 
A little sustenance, a hut and garden, a little money—these, as I rendezvous with my
A traveler’s lodging and breakfast as I journey through The States—Why should I
 ashamed to own such gifts? Why to advertise for them? 
For I myself am not one who bestows nothing upon man and woman; 
For I bestow upon any man or woman the entrance to all the gifts of the universe.

by Amy Lowell

Fools Money Bags

 Outside the long window,
With his head on the stone sill,
The dog is lying,
Gazing at his Beloved.
His eyes are wet and urgent, And his body is taut and shaking.
It is cold on the terrace; A pale wind licks along the stone slabs, But the dog gazes through the glass And is content.
The Beloved is writing a letter.
Occasionally she speaks to the dog, But she is thinking of her writing.
Does she, too, give her devotion to one Not worthy?