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Best Money Poems

Below are the all-time best Money poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of money poems written by PoetrySoup members

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The secret to money and power by Nganga, Jack
The Money Changer and his Wife by Rigoler, Maurice
Follow The Money by Ellison, Jack
HOLIDAY MONEY by curtis futch jr, kurtis scott aka
Money is Everything by Ben, Su
The Color of Money by mohn, david
Saving your souls, Taking your money by Claude, Bruce
You Took My Money by Siegel, Steven
Planned Parenthood Diabolical Money Maker by Jennings, Marilyn

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The Best Money Poems

Details | Money Poem | |


Trust not in the words: "In God We Trust", printed on currency,
for God and Money should be kept separate,
unless one desires to tempt fate with the Money-God,
tempt fate by not over-turning the money-lenders' tables,
although many might argue how this isn't good for business.

Why not know the value of life,
instead of focusing too hard on the prices of Idols.

People are bleating at the prospect of "God" being removed
from money, arguing that if God is removed from money,
the grazing grounds will become Godless.

With or without the words, 
a Money-God is a God nonetheless.
There is at least one true God, 
whether man-made or not;
an authority of control,
a God of profit margins.
Violence is a profit margin.
Hatred is a profit margin.
Bullets, Amendments, and Death, are all profit margins.

The war being waged upon children, is a profit margin.

If I had been given the chance, 
I would have tried my best to take him out,
morphed the vapours of my remaining hatred into bullets,
or torn him apart with my hands.
To stop innocents from losing their innocence.
There are lines drawn in minds,
that if crossed over, stretch beyond the bristle-board of rehabilitation.
Even Clockwork Orange bleeds into crimson spatters.

When a child survives a massacre,
runs across his school field to find safety from a stranger,
proclaiming to the stranger, "I can't go back to my school, it isn't safe there.
My teacher was killed, I don't have a teacher anymore.
All of my friends are dead."....

....then innocence has been lost, and the Money-God is empowered even more.
Lost innocence spreads like a disease through the minds of global villagers.
Fear breeds fear, breeds control and disintegration of the Stream-Mind.

If I had been given the chance,
I would have fought fire with fire,
fed the beast within, 
taken him apart with a breath of hatred.
Breathed it out, pushed it out, purged it out.

Satan is a scapegoat used by people who are unwilling 
to take accountability for their actions and sacred responsibilities.
The Beast is humanity -
not marked by a fairy-tale Devil,
but instead marked by the Money-God created in the image of man;
recreating the image of man through fear.

Some people might be intrigued by how many definitions of God there are.
Even if money is a necessity,
within our core there should reside a different Kingdom -
without and within, within and without.

If I had been given the chance -- past tense....

....if I am given the chance,
I will try my best to take him out,
smudge him out
with the remaining hatred in my heart.
Breathe it out, push it out, purge it out,

until all that's left is to love,
until all that's left is to love.

December 14th, 2012 - S.H.E.S:  28 - 2 = 26

January 7th, 2013


Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner

More great poems below...

Details | Money Poem | |

How much do I love thee

How much do I love thee
Let me tabulate all the ways

I bought you a new Mercedes
	With gold plated tire rims
I bought you a humongous diamond ring
	The size fit for all Royals and King
I bought you a store of the finest lingerie
	Secrets still held at the door by decree
I bought you a garden of roses so red
	My love was surely in bloom, or so they all said
I bought you a ticket to heavens pearly gates
	So that in paradise you’d have not to even wait
I bought you your very own private Lear jet
	To see the world through champagne eyes
My love was a vault and you emptied it dry
	My heart has now learned to never cry

How much do you love me?
Your lawyer seems to know

You claimed mental duress
	Suffering under such stress
The Mercedes was the wrong color so I am told	
	I should have known, pink, not gold
The diamond ring was too heavy to wear
	Your back injuries caused you painful despair
The lingerie didn’t cover you just right
	So medical ailments kept you up many a nights
The roses in bloom where not the right flower
	Your allergies they caused, thus making you sour
The ticket to heaven you plain out refused
	Said it was one way, and that just wouldn’t do!
You had no issues riding my Lear jet 
	You rode the pilot as well, a mile high kinda bet
My love you tossed into the bin out in back
	The divorce lawyer smiles at me, saying she sure is great in the sack 

The moral of the Story is this!
If you are sitting at the table, and
You see a few beetles scurrying about
Maybe even whistling a tune or two
Listen carefully to what they say

Copyright © arthur vaso

Details | Money Poem | |


written 25th Oct 2013

I don't know if human's will ever see
 every soul born, is right where it's meant to be
For the rich to become the richest
 there has to be a place for the poorest

The entire world is built up from the same level of dirt
 each soul is born without knowledge to cause hurt
Humanity teaches us what a human's life is worth, by money and glory
 I am to believe "all lives are priceless, every soul fit's to tell Earth's story

The luckiest to be born, is that of a poor man
 he learn's the treasures, of "everything he can
Those born into all riches, have no true understanding of "richness
 seeing us not as human's, but those living in poverty "as an illness

Love start's from the soul, and from there, it is taught to grow
 the rich find another kind of love, one only brought with dough
Love, trust, compassion and grace, defining the difference in richest and wealth
 t'is the beggar off the street, who climbs the toughest road to earn his wealth 

He is the most blessed man, he is rewarded with the most valuable key
 for his wealth, is humanly "uncountable, for only God know's the value of he...

Copyright © Denise Hopkins

Details | Money Poem | |

Glow worms of the night

I fight my sleep in a drain.
 Oh ! My brain why art thou so vain.
I glow at night when the city sleeps.
To my dears who weep.
Tales aren't glowing at this end.
You lucky to choose the path you trend.
I am a glow worm of the bountiful sky.
I weave silk with my words each night,
Which fades in the darkness of the waving dream.
I wonder the worth of it all.
A vain pursuit, I say.
My soul is in that cave...
Pity! Warm breeze take me away to the morning light.
Let me fly through these strum less clogs of wheel.
Drudgery breeds it's contempt.
Amaya! Shower on me thy calm to tread the brightest star.


(A poem for those who work at night)

Contest:- Any poem under 15lines#2
Sponsored By:- A Poet Destroyer
Place:-    5th

Copyright © Chelsea Chords

Details | Money Poem | |

Hey, That's My Money

Well, I see that Congress is proposin' another trillion dollar spree!
Those inept buffoons must think money grows upon a tree!
The treasury is crankin' out bales of twenty-dollar bills,
Doin' their part to cure (and inflate) the nation's many ills!

Funds were 'loaned' to help carmakers, now they're hollerin' fer more!
A ton of dough was 'loaned' to banks, but ain't nobody keepin' score!
Millions was designated to help home foreclosures to abate.
Where has my money gone?  I've seen minimal results to date!

Funds are proposed fer more sand fer the beaches of New Joisey,
And city officials want a water park out west in frigid Boise!
Frenzied lobbyists are scurryin' about fer a portion of the pork,
To build an emergency landin' strip on the Hudson in New York!

Money is probably well-spent fer roads, bridges and agin' sewers,
But spare me the cost of subsidizin' sports arenas and sozzled brewers.
Lack of foresight by the banks and politicians got us in this mess,
Now they cover their boondoggles with my money, nonetheless!

Hordes of politicians gleefully gather at the bottomless trough,
Elbowin' others fer largesse they claim will make us better off.
Is there no end to compensatory spendin' and open-ended lendin'?
Hey!  That's my money you fellers are so very inept at spendin'!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw

Details | Money Poem | |

The Welfare Poem

The welfare poem is not for you
and not enough for anyone.
The welfare poem is very small
and not just given to everyone.

It's not enough to read for long.
It's just a little short.
It's not paid much attention to
and not the longing sort.

With thanks there's those who'll get it.
Those of who deserve it.
It's just some stolen words,
though I would soon forget it.

It's filled with much disgrace.
Those wary as they read.
It may be meant for you
if you accept the need.

I hope you have enjoyed it.
I'll cut you off for now.
But if you want more later
just beg there's more somehow.

Copyright © Trevor McLeod

Details | Money Poem | |

The Great Puppeteer

The Great Puppeteer

The CEO wore a six hundred dollar wool-silk blended suit
and he stroked his tie as he counted his loot
10 million for me
10 million for my stockholders if you please
and that leaves
7 dollars for my employees

leaning back in his leather chair
he muses
thinking of the people he uses
we’ve got to stop raising minimum wage
if we’re to go on living in this golden age

the great puppeteer
he knows he’s got a good thing going here

so with a little hocus pocus
he gets his employees to focus
on poor people who live in despair
he gets them complaining about people on welfare

it’s called divide and conquer said he
you see
the poor are so naive
they’ll never see the card I have up my sleeve
I’ll get them fighting over the scraps I leave
and they won’t even notice
I’m having a feast no one would believe!

Copyright © Wally Flint

Details | Money Poem | |



Propriety demands - we do not speak
Of others, either strong – or weak
Lest in the foray of the quest
Insiders, fall from grace, of safety’s nest
Take residence alongside taloned beast
Intent on making you the winner’s feast
Cloned puppets denying there are strings
Surrendering their truth to cell phone rings.

John G. Lawless
for Judy Konos
How’s Your Acrostic? contest

Copyright © John lawless

Details | Money Poem | |

Hopeless Nomadic Part 3

I’m left perplexed. How vexing, how complex…
the plight of a simple man, (one’s ruin is another’s choosing) is moving and  doing the least that he can, no oil changes no wedding band.
All this just to exist, just to be standing, still living, surviving this life with a pocket knife and all the time that most never venture to find before the last goodbye.
Like the return of high tide you can count on his nothing, nothing to show nothing to hide... a cowboy trailblazing the countryside.

Beethoven's eleventh symphony ?keeps the beat of this visceral epiphany.?
No piano key in record history? could serenade away the blue music that drips from the riffs in me.
How is it to be, so utterly free. No paper trail to keep folded neatly, a homeless nomadic home body taking what the rest of us are wasting, catching sickness digging ditches while we dine on delicious richness. 

My intuition becomes twisted and misses the simpleness where my wisdom depicted the abyss, this before my vision was transformed by barely bearing witness to his existence.

Copyright © Breezie Chrisman

Details | Money Poem | |

Yes I Know

Yes I know people are talking
But as for me
I'm just going to keep on walking
Girl gotta do what she needs to do
To survive these streets
Heck and nightmares
Exactly what this lady is living through

Have two
Carrying one
She a pregnant mommy left on her own
All alone
Now what is she gonna do?

Working two jobs
But a few others on the side
A Latina girl with high expectations for her money and herself
When in her small apartment
There's no room for a shelf
To place her achievements
Yeah you better believe it

A wealthy woman with a nice house
And a fresh ride
But she husslin' to make that extra money on the side
Over 100 grand is how much debt she is in
On top of it all
Her husband just died
He commited suicide
Now what is she gonna do?
Now what would you do?
If the federals were coming after you..

Copyright © tamra wilson

Details | Money Poem | |


Community, what does it mean
And how does it come into being
Well what does the dictionary have to say
“A group of people living together in one place”

I guess that means were all in community
Though if I were to speak in honesty
It feels like we try to live separately
 Living by the culture of our country

Which tells us, do it yourself
 If your strong, you don’t ask for help
Life is about personal advancement
About money and accomplishments
Hold onto your hardships and pain
Keep striving for personal gain
So many lies deeply engrained
How will we create change?

Well I start with myself
I ask for help
I start with me
I be the change I want to see

I become an infectious contagion
In all of my relations
That could spread across a population
Even across the nations
I model my life after the master of love
Who dwells in the heavens above
He has brought millions even billions together
Over decades, centuries, even millenniums
So what else could be better
Than to faithfully follow him

He who said, I was anointed 
to proclaim good news to the poor
 to proclaim freedom for the prisoners
and recovery of sight for the blind,
to set the oppressed free”

and I say yeah that’s who I want to be
But unless I engage in community
Unless I get to know my fellow human beings
How can I help to set them free

So its time for me to put aside
Popular culture, foolish pride
Social codes, selfish ambitions
Old roads, and useless traditions

And blaze a brand new trail 
With my life, write a new tale
Introduce a new theme
Add in a few more characters
And then dare to dream
About how my story could impact theirs
And their’s impact mine

Because maybe just, maybe
It might be better, might just be
Not to say, I did it on my own
All this, look I did it alone
No maybe it would be better
If we did it together

So that no matter what my lot
I can always know that I’ve got
 Friends, right until the very end 
Help, ready to be sent
Hands willing to be lent
So what need would I have for advancement
For money and accomplishment

I can find all that I need
Everything I seek from this life, 
In relationship with fellow human beings
Community, Maybe this is what it means

Copyright © Roland Fleming

Details | Money Poem | |

he is leaving home

                  In great respect of the band I grew up listening to
                       as sure as Mom passed down Saturday Chores 
                      for I had been chosen to scrub bathroom floors `

                    Yet a familiar sound would bring me to keep scrubbing
                       The red album, The blue album , The White album 
                        Then .. Abbey Road , always remembering the sad look on
                  Ringo's face ,  something hard to understand underneath~
                      I get it now, what you were saying all those years ago ,
                    the many sad lonely tears , secret tears , secret fears 
                    For Maxwell's Hammer was a real one . It wanted silence

                    Going back ..remembering when John Lennon died 
                      I was in Arkansas saddened with the world .
                      Then seeing his face saying " Drag isn't it " 
                      No .. this was not my hero in music and song .

                      he was a stand in hired William , he filled his shoes 
                      bringing diversity to create so much beautiful music from loss

                       One left standing , alone;; grief struck on back cover ~
                       The other identity hidden, tried to be part of ..coming together
                            his  world of secrets
                        He to suffers today , in fear , Faul~
                        Too many years gone by .let us tell the Truth. Let us be free
                         The very sad long and winding Road ~
                         Let us Bury our real Paul. 

                         No more " Mystery tour "
                             No more fear 
                                Let him be in peace ~

           Inspired by " The Last Testament of George Harrison , Is Paul Dead ? "


Copyright © Shanity Rain

Details | Money Poem | |


On a sale, my Aunt Bel can’t be denied
Access to mark-downs with red, yellow tags
Off for the big loot, her shoulders take pride
In carrying four gigantic tote-bags.

To keep poised, she dons fancy sunglasses
Like those models who shop but then conceal,
A giddy look that excites the senses
Obsessed about offers… Aunt’s set to reel. 

Hurrying to snatch branded  teenage jeans
Which do not fit her extra large belly;
She picks a bimbo hat, dye, and face-creams
As twinkling eyes roll … what a joyful spree.

While purchases are arranged , now she whines
The Mall’s closing with a long queue that’s packed
Bel groans,” I'm dizzy; my breathing's not fine,”
She gets ahead… feigning a heart attack!

Humorous Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Thomas Martin

Copyright © nette onclaud

Details | Money Poem | |


Money money, ringing in your tills,
Calling us to worship,
The hundred dollar bills.
Bend our knees in wonder,
Bow our heads in awe,
At the power of the liar,
Who now controls us all.
From the darkest deep caverns,
To the stars in the sky,
From the infinite universe,
To the strangers passing by.

From your inner most conviction,
To your laughing in the night,
From everything you 're  seeing,
To everything out of sight.

The new God has risen,
To claim the holy throne,
The one that we have emptied,
Our hearts all cold as stone.

The throne that we have emptied,
We killed the rightful king,
Sold his crown an sceptre,
Pawned his sacred  ring.

Raised his bleeding body,
Up on that bloody hill,
The silent lamb still bleeding,
As the money fills your tills.

Copyright © ness tillson

Details | Money Poem | |


(Circa 1910) Grandpa had a bulldog whose name was Tige. They were close – as close as honey and bees. If Grandpa felt a cold comin’ on – Well Ol’ Tige was the one who would sneeze Grandpa was noted for his wealth and generosity. His love for me was demonstrated when he paid my college fees. The love he held for Tige was almost the same for me. And ol’ Tige was always with Grandpa wherever he might be. College life was different then, separation was the norm. And years at Alma Mater meant years far from the farm. Students have it difficult and allowances soon shrink So, short of money there, I soon began to think. Grandpa, bless his giving heart, quickly came to mind That bulldog owned his generous heart – if somehow I could find Some way to convince my grandpa to increase the money sent -- I came upon a devious plan – and this is how it went. I wrote and told my grandpa, “There’s things you ought to know. The things they’re doin’ here at school will set your heart aglow.” “They’re takin’ all these sorts of dogs – it came as quite a shock Grandpa, you won’t believe me, they’re teachin’ dogs to talk.” Now grandpa loved ol’ Tige so much it didn’t take him long To ask how much would it take to send ol’ Tige along? Well, when I gave a figure, Grandpa was satisfied If this crazy scheme was figured out, there’s no place I could hide. I kept feeding grandpa all sorts of good reports How Tige was a star pupil and mascot of all sports Two years passed and soon there came the time to take Tige home Grandpa was so excited -- Tige was never more to roam. Grandpa came runnin’ when I stepped down off the train. His eager eyes were searching for what he’d never see again. “Where’s ol’ Tige?” he asked, as we began to walk. “He’s not comin’.” I replied, “C’mon we need to talk.” This morning I was shaving in the bathroom by the sink And Tige was justa talkin’ when he looked at me and winked. “Ya know’ he said, “I’ll be so glad to be back home at last.” There are some things I’ve thought about that went on in the past.” “I was standin’ at the mirror with my razor in my hand Ol’ Tige was talkin’ ‘bout some things he couldn’t understand. I could not believe the lies he told – things he’d seen first hand Like the times he saw you wrestlin’ with that female hired hand.” His words just lit a fire with the pictures that he painted I almost couldn’t help myself – Grandpa, I nearly fainted. It seems that I lost it some and when I finally woke, I’d grabbed him by the backa his neck and cut his lyin’ throat. I know grandpa was shaken, I saw it in his eyes. A look of consternation he could not disguise He seemed to be relieved, as he looked at me and said, “Now, Son, I really need to know, are you sure ol’ Tige is dead?” Years have hidden the truth of this deception that I wrought. I’m the one who wove deceptive tales that everybody bought. But when the truth is told at last and no more lies are found You’ll gladly find an ending that surely will astound. Grandpa? -- He now lives with Jesus, and me? -- I’m headed there. Tige? – I know he’s still around though I shouldn’t tell you where. We made a pact some years ago when things went awfully bad. For years he’s been the best darn mascot my school ever had.

Copyright © John Posey

Details | Money Poem | |


I met someone I know quite well, he gets about in cars, does buy and sell.
He spoke to me upon a theme, we were stirring coffee; I had just added my cream.
When (Fiat) money, he intoned..)
This word does it ring a bell?
Of it have you heard; or known, do tell.?
The cost of Fiat cars I then proclaimed?
No it’s of money I speak,he said if it’s all the same,
I had bought some autos and to me the word was told,
That it is money without collateral backing, that’s the truth stone cold!
So in this stressured contemporary rhyme, I think I must… It’s now high time
In fact a lack of sober views and action which did not ensue...
Control! ….. control!, "well they did not" now high (inflation) pop pop pops..!
Consume, consume they said and greed is good for all..!
Poor old Jim john and Doug..)  Rachel, Joan and Queenie McCall..!
A dream was sold and lives were told, It’s Oh! so safe, more so than gold!
Now Fiat cash is on the scene, they run it off Oh! ream on ream
Just like my coffee encircling mug, so here’s to the truth lets give it a plug.
When I again pour in my cream, 
as it begins to merge like inflations infusion, Maybe I’ll dream.
That financial fiasco’s and social screams are only rumours on a jittery theme,
However until "their problem" has been (sold),  I’ll trade some paper cash for gold.

© Joe Maverick 13-11-2010

Copyright © Joe Maverick

Details | Money Poem | |

Thoughts Before Bed

the past is haunting me
I just want to be free

there doesn’t seem to be an escape
and success have never took shape

is this my destiny 
hardly any money

money isn’t God
I may have been flawed

but I’m one hundred percent pure
I believe in this life for sure

Copyright © Robert Heemstra

Details | Money Poem | |



There was an old Scotsman named Bill,
who left himself heir of his will.
He saved all his life,
was missed by his wife,
she gave him a cheque as goodwill.


Copyright © Ronald Zammit

Details | Money Poem | |

She means the world to me

I gotta crooked legged woman
With legs that go where they choose
Her lips are shaped like a beer mug
And over flowin with booze 

She means the world to me
And a freak that makes me money 

Her face is like a chocolate chip cookie
Covered in spots dots and all of that
I don't need a road map to find my way around
Just look at her face and I know where I'm at  

She means the world to me
And a freak that makes me money 

She gotta hunch back
From her boobs that sag
They look like two egg yolks 
On two kwik mart bags 

But She means the world to me
And a freak that makes me money

**Singing the Blues**

Copyright © Sidney Hall Mad Poet

Details | Money Poem | |

This grinds my gears

Do you know what grinds my gears?
Its been building in me for a few years.
People driving and texting, just letting their mind linger.
They almost hit me, then cut me off, then give me the finger. 

Then the teacher tells everyone not to text during class.
She starts lecturing and all heads go down like a ceremony at mass.
They all just sit there and talk and text away, 
or just sit there and get frustrated at the games they play.

Another thing that gets under my skin and must go,
is when people talk to me, using phrases and words I don't know.
For Example, my friend spent some bones on a whip and got a bucket.
What? Is everyone all right?  What happened?  He explained it.

What that means is he spent money (bones) on a car (whip), 
and its a piece of crap (bucket), and it won't last on a long trip. 
Another is: I got a trick that we can flip and make some mad.
I'm not sure what he said, but I could end up in the most wanted ad.

Then he explains, he saw a nice car (trick), that we can buy and sell (flip), 
and make a lot of money (mad). So a bucket is a trick and trick is whip?
Why can't you just say car?  Because it sounds cool and you know it.
You sound like an idiot and I can't even understand you and I'm a poet. 

I don't get why this world has to be so frustrating and get in my head.
He's gonna skeet and drop it til then, so I have to figure out what he just said.  

**For Natalie Fllikkema's contest “What annoys you”?

Copyright © Chris Matt

Details | Money Poem | |

A Dark Man

         This piece is dedicated with love to J.E. Gauthier, Jr. Active addict and father. 
Only by the grace of God may he be saved from the error of his ways.

 For years a dark man walked through a seemingly revolving door
 Steadily leaving his wife and kids as he searched for something more
 Occasionally calling home every now and again
 In his voice they could hear the taint of black sin
 Back then life on the road meant drugs money and women far as the eye could see
 He said he'd never look back 'cuz he was born free
 Life grew emptier as he grew older
 The drugs grew heavier as his heart grew colder
 His four children left behind with no place to call home
 From day one they made it in this world alone
  For years a dark man walked through a seemingly revolving door
 Steadily leaving his wife and kids as he searched for something more
 Occasionally calling home every now and again
 In his voice they could hear the taint of black sin

 Every few years he'd arrive unannounced offering money and a hug
 All while using the garage to hide his drug
 His spitting image could smell his guilt a mile away
 She rolled her gloomy blue eyes in unison with every false word he had to say

 Today his girls are grown raising girls of thier own
 December came and went
 February turned to Lent
 On a stormy midnight he still turns to his blue eyed spitting image
 As the clouds clear she is again lost in the scrimmage

 She lies awake with a bottle of wine in hand
 On her mind weighs a dark man
 His ways make him lonely and lost
 Yet to her death she will fight for him at all costs

  For years a dark man walked through a seemingly revolving door
 Steadily leaving his wife and kids as he searched for something more
 Occasionally calling home every now and again
 In his voice they could hear the taint of black sin

Copyright © Sara Beaderstadt

Details | Money Poem | |

Christmas Carols

Trevor, Wendy and Sheila they all lived next door
Then there was me and that made us four
We all sang in St Peters church choir in my village home
On Christmas Eve we sang carols as round the village we would roam

We sang at every door in the village on that night
Wishing all a merry Christmas as they turned on their porch light
We sang the entire carol every single verse
Though sometimes the snow would just get worse and worse

All the money that we raised went to Overley Hall
To help keep the place open a benefit to all
Our last carol of the night was always at the York’s
He and his missus couldn’t they half talk

She would play piano and we would sing along
He would sit by fireside joining in the song
After we had finished they showed us to the door
With cake and fruit and a donation even though they might be poor

They had no children of their own so enjoyed our carol singing
We always left with words of thanks and exaltations ringing
We would find our way home it would be after ten
We used to count the money gat ourselves warm and then

They would go home back to the house next door
I would go up to my room and sleep deep that for sure
We would get up the next day and Christmas day was there
Yet Christmas Eve and carol singing was great for us to share 

Copyright © Owen Yeates

Details | Money Poem | |


If money was no object I wonder where I’d go I’d love to visit friends who have just moved to Orlando I could buy a wonderful mansion packed full of treasure With servants to wait on me, so I could enjoy my leisure But to move away from everything I know doesn’t appeal to me Money doesn’t buy you happiness - well not from what I can see So in reality I would not move away from my little house I’d give my fortune to charity and live like a church mouse When I leave this mortal coil I could look down from my home in the clouds See that others have benefited, for there are no pockets in shrouds 10~21~15 If You Were Rich Sponsor Mystic Rose

Copyright © JAN ALLISON

Details | Money Poem | |

World Order

Financiers feel superior to farmers
and pundits have it over poets.
All to the good because if you think America's
doing just fine, don't skip to the poetry reviews.
Our enemies are barbarous, our allies duplicitous
but our smart bombs are smart - that's how they found you.

Dad said all wars are resource wars. Follow
the money. The world needs more order, nothing
less than Nazis, never may the anarchic man's thoughts
be my thoughts, each shove sends a ping,
shields urge on shields, helmets helmets, we can be
the reigning kings between the last empire and the next

or implement a vision of collective deliberation
and binding agreements. Can China's navy
be harnessed to ensure free passage through
the South China Sea? We'll see how
things work out in the next generation.
In the meantime should I read Henry Kissinger's meditations?

He who thinks poetry's effete
probably considers Darwin a geek and Einstein
a postal clerk. Containment means leaving space
for the passionate and zealous to face themselves
and giving them missiles that don't work.
Slowing everyone down until one thing's done well -

governance or sustenance or brotherhood.
When violence comes to the neighborhood
the hierarchy will hold or fold, it is then the peace work proves relevant.
Failing to achieve understanding, we're searching outer space
for an entity to unite us as humanity.
That person, or city, is consciousness.

By that what is meant. Sitting still and thinking deeply
on the relation of anger to coercion,
systems for correcting the decisions of earlier presidents.
We're required to report incidents of depression
to a doctor because you're a valued member of of our community,
or so insignificant no one notices or cares.

How necessary the interface of war and poetry!

Copyright © Robert Ronnow

Details | Money Poem | |

Five Minutes Effort

Computer genarated is my middle name
Doesn't really matter, when you got fortune and fame
I had standards once, it left while the money came
The names have been changed, but it's all the same
La la la on every station
Thoughtless singers through out the nation
Only hear real words on special occasion
All that really matters is the radio vibration
Bars of ivory are now plastic
Our true potential has been wasted
Learn to lip sync, dance dirty, and lose it
C'mon don't ya know anything 'bout music?
Yeah I know the new stuff was sh*t
It was also a top 40 hit
No need for a conscience or wit
All you need is chocolate skin and an auto-tune kit
Got a little bit heavy with that line
But who cares man, it rhymed!
When you're this big nothing's a crime
Smoking wads of cash, all I got is time
Brings a whole new meaning to money to burn
Pretend I'm your teacher for a sec, take a seat and learn
Where I come from borrowed is earned
We sleep to the poetry of the streets
Where they talk about girls like they're tasty meat
Bangin' on your doors, we're the farthest from discreet
Ring the bell in the night, with masks on, trick or treat
But look, now we famous, kissing babies, they think we sweet
Cry us a river cause our lives are SO hard
Barely even know where to start
Our lyrics come from inside the heart
They're wanting out cause it's cold and dark
Takes real skill to do what I do
Convincing all these lies to be true
They gave me the check so I followed through
I'm too deep in it to just undo
A moment in the studio is called work
Got a sore throat, my vocals hurt
Our next track is gonna sound so absurd
But I bet it'll make it big cause it's rap
The result of five minutes effort

NOTE: I don't normally swear when I write (or even in real life). However I felt it necessary to help get my message across. Also I wanted to challenge myself doing a rap/freestyle.

Copyright © Timothy Hicks