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Best Changes Hands Poems | Poetry

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Details | Changes Hands Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Winter Memories

Days of past and wintry times
The chill of night within my bones
Words that last and cling to rhyme
Crackling flames and yuletide tones

Birds of night sing one last song
Then capture flight to warmer lands
Where they shall stay all winter long
Until the season changes hands

Ribbons and bows beneath the tree
Neatly tied 'round gifts of love
Cookies and milk near Santa's seat
And the mistletoe hung  
so high above

Hugs from friends who come to call
Children's faces filled with dreams
Good tidings and tinsel lining the walls
That share in my winter 
with warm memories

Michael 2013


Copyright © michael salazar | Year Posted 2015


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With You Here In My Life - Poem

With you here in my life:
All enemies seem far away!
No longing have I now to roam!
The world seems like it’s meant for play!
Your aura’s warmth is always home!

God knows this cannot stand:
Illusion hide your heart from me?
Demonic agents Love erase?
Our stars subvert astronomy?
Without us is there even space?

Oh where were you when world began,
And where suppose was I?
And where the bridge that crossed time’s span
In twinkling of an eye?

From dust we’re made, to dust in kind, (1)
From star’s hearts we were blown,
To share Creator’s heart and mind,
It’s all we’ve ever known.

Poet's Note: 
(1)	‘in kind’ – An English idiom. Suppose you are selling eggs, and I am selling bananas. You  give me 3 eggs and I give you 2 bananas in trade. No money changes hands but we both accept that the exchange is a fair one. The sale then is said to have been 'in kind',  i.e., produce for produce.

God gives us the star dust to make our bodies and when our lives are over, we pay it back to him 'in kind.'

MAYBE THE LAST LETTER - POETRY CONTEST

What irony Elly! Every condition of your submission standards is met with this poem. She is 16, a young poet herself, surviver of an accident/attack on her family that killed her mother, father, and younger brother. Car hit by a military truck on a winding narrow road, the car perched on the edge of a cliff, her mother pushed her from the burning car, only to die herself with her husband and son. 

The young girl fell some distance, only to awaken a month later after several surgeries with severe head trauma, having missed her family's funeral. Taken in by accident almost, by a woman who turned out to be her mother' best friend from her school days, in a completely serendipitous reunion (they did not know of each other), the young girl survived another automobile attack/accident escaping with two broken legs after a hit and run injury. 

Then within a month small pox came. And then just weeks later, brain tumors resulting from the original accident have put her life in danger again. She is currently undergoing chemotherapy and has withdrawn from communication with others because she can't bear to think people are feeling sorry for her. Sadly there are those around her as well who say she is bad luck and fear her company! Her name is N**** and she has a poet's heart. She became my honorary Grand-Daughter shortly after her family's accident and and I, her honorary Grand-Pa. I love her with all my heart. She needs all of our prayers. This poem was written the night of her disappearance.  Don't trust the internet right? But for my part, I believe every word of this story is true.



Copyright © Brian Johnston | Year Posted 2014


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With you here in my life - Song

With you here in my life:
All enemies seem far away!
With you here in my life:
No longing have I now to roam!
With you here in my life:
The world seems like it’s meant for play!
With you here in my life:
Your aura’s warmth is always home!

Chorus:
Oh where were you when world began,
And where suppose was I?
And where the bridge that crossed time’s span
In twinkling of an eye?

From dust we’re made, to dust in kind, (1)
From star’s hearts we were blown,
To share Creator’s heart and mind,
It’s all we’ve ever known.
 
God knows this cannot stand:
Illusion hide your heart from me?
God knows this cannot stand:
Demonic agents Love erase?
God knows this cannot stand:
Our stars subvert astronomy?
God knows this cannot stand:
Without us is there even space?

Chorus:
Oh where were you when world began,
And where suppose was I?
And where the bridge that crossed time’s span
In twinkling of an eye?

From dust we’re made, to dust in kind, (1)
From star’s hearts we were blown,
To share Creator’s heart and mind,
It’s all we’ve ever known.

Brian Johnston
Sept. 11, 2014

Poet's Note: 
(1)	‘in kind’ – An English idiom. Suppose you are selling eggs, and I am selling bananas. You give me 3 eggs and I give you 2 bananas in trade. No money changes hands but we both accept that the exchange is a fair one. The sale then is said to have been 'in kind',  i.e., produce for produce.

God gives us the star dust to make our bodies and when our lives are over, we pay it back to him 'in kind.'
 
Written in honor (in memory) of my adopted Grand-Daughter Neethu Panicker who left PoemHunter.com on Sept 10, 2014 for private reasons but whose spirit and blossoming poetic voice will be sorely missed by all who knew her. Vaya con Dios Neethu.


Copyright © Brian Johnston | Year Posted 2014


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Hustle Like Me

They call you corporate?
Well then so am I
You’re that same guy I saw pass by
And cut your eyes in my direction
Like I was some kind of menace
But we’re both lawless
I run my world from where you wouldn’t dare
You run yours from that big corner office
Same hustle
Different size slice cut from the same seedy pie
The only real difference?
You run your sins from a hundred floors high
But you hustle just like me

Mr. White Collar critic
I may openly live it
But just like me
You push your product towards the weak and impulsive
So like it or not you’ve been right in it
Just like me
Supply and demand
Different trade, same plan
We target the same clientele
That same vulnerable man
Cause’ once that money changes hands
We both have no shame
All green money spends the same
You got your stocks, insider trade
I got my rocks
We’re both self made
You got your inside sources turned state’s witness
I employ the young and ambitious
Sometimes they slip up
And they too become snitches
So the flavor in your greed taste just like mine
Two people who at the end of the day
Pull up their britches in the same way
One crooked leg at a time 
So you see
You hustle just like me

You got your “just in case” insurance
Stashed off shore, to be dispensed upon request
You launder
I make threats
Eventually, 
What both of us want both of us gets
You keep a tight circle
I keep one too
But mine’s called a crew
In any case it keeps us less nervous
But they serve the same damn purpose
They help us sleep while our money stays in service
What I sell makes people believe they can fly
So yes,
My trade is predicated on a lie
But I guess
Your trade is just as cleverly disguised
It’s just that your lies are forgiven by less judgmental eyes
But both our business models have destroyed innocent lives
So in essence
When you stare at me
It’s like a mirrored view into your own scandal clad eyes
You know why?
Cause’ you hustle 
Just like me

Copyright © 2014 by Daryl R. Gaines. All rights reserved
  


Copyright © Daryl Gaines | Year Posted 2014


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Postcard Show

Thousands upon thousands 
             of postcards 
  lined up in boxes 
People from different lands 
     milling about 
Cards of political figures 
    actors, musicians
A DELTIOLOGIST'S  DREAM
    Money changes hands 
and hard fought deals are made 
   Some scoff at this fine hobby 
But take a chance - come to a card show! 
If you remember the Beach Boys sang - those who don't just have
    to put it down" 
Postcard show
(for those who don't know a deltiologist is someone who studies postcards)


Copyright © Matthew Anish | Year Posted 2014


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Autumn's Allure

Summer waves goodbye, as it tip toes forward.
Autumn shadows the land, without saying a word.

The hues of fall gradually makes its appearance.
The traces of summer breeze by, saluting in reverence.

Autumn light rain covers over the splayed ground.
A gentle wind cradles the leaves falling all around.

Summer passes on by, taking the toil and the heat.
Autumn breathes in coolness, as the summer retreats.

Trees turn over a new leaf, as autumn commands.
The green plush ground fades and changes hands.

Grayish clouds appear and the sun is obscured.
Autumn abounds with mystery and full of allure.


Copyright © Twelve Noon | Year Posted 2009


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Fairground

Smells of boiled hot dog sausages,
beef burgers and onions.
Mingle these with - wafts of candy floss, 
toffee apples and brandy snaps.
Whirring of engines
chugging over noisily,
half drowned by thumping music,
screams and laughter.
A multitude of lights flash and spin,
in time with the rides
that dash before your eyes;
round and round,
side to side,
back and forth,
and upside down.
Over and over, on and on they go.
Crowds pushing and shoving,
impatiently they each await their short turn.
Money changes hands,
speaker blasts; 'Hold tight, here we go...';
While greedy fair lords 
count their cash profits;
before packing up at end of night,
to go home  to their caravans;
sleep briefly
then hit the road once more.
Onwards they go to next town,
ready to start all over again....


Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2009


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GOD'S POET

As a poet I use words to facilitate.
Whether it is to inspire, for grief, love or debate.
A word to me in rhyming form is God’s gift.
I do not use it for my benefit I use it to uplift.
From my thoughts and spirit these words are written.
To use this gift for hate or to despise is forbidden.
My poetry is God’s stewardship.
My God given talents is to build spiritual relationships.
I’m grateful for everything he’s done for me
To write gives me peace and sets me free.
On His voice and His commands.
My pen time after time changes hands.
Through my trials and tribulation.
My pen is on a mission;
As God’s poetic disciple.
I write the truth from the bible


Copyright © Jeffrey Lee | Year Posted 2006


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Free From Money

Free From Money


I search for money and money I cannot find
What do I perceive;
more search and tired mind
I search for money and money I cannot find.

I don't need a bank
to lean on my flank.

In pursuit for money, more and more I kill
What do I achieve;
an abundant blood spill
In pursuit of money, more and more I kill.

I just want to be free
like a bird on the tree.

At work where I'm employed my job is hard
What do I receive;
is not enough as a reward
At work where I'm employed my job is hard.

To chase after money
harbours disharmony.

Money I surely need, but not to rule my life
What it does bereave
replaces it with deep strife
Money I surely need, but not to rule my life.

Should you kill or steal
it cannot bestow weal.

For, as money changes hands to another
counterfeit to deceive
brother kills one's brother
As lucre comes and lucre goes to another!

My happiness is nil
when faced with a bill.

Another we dominate, when money we have
hegemony we believe
"oppress them to the grave," 
and call it "a chosen few who are quite brave!

Condemn me therefore,
cash I'll always deplore!

We trade, we rob or toil; yet, we cannot sleep
we waylay to thieve
we laugh and they weep
We may rob or may trade, we continue to weep;


Money gives no freedom
What it gives is boredom.



02nd Oct' 2013


Copyright © Joseph Matose | Year Posted 2013


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Pieces

love like currency that changes hands, 
that falls into cracks between the pavement, 
protected by some, squandered by others, 
unspent, overdrawn, overwhelmed


Copyright © S.L. Lawrence | Year Posted 2014


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Galaxy Lite-Brite

She takes the stars up in the sky
And connects their dots at night
Like a giant Etch A Sketch
Her own Galaxy Lite-Brite

Using neon highlighter 
All the colors she can find
Drawing close the Cosmos
She closes both her eyes

Adding a bit of the abstract 
She changes hands from left to right
On this giant Etch A Sketch
Her own Galaxy Lite-Brite


Copyright © Mike Hauser | Year Posted 2018


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Perceptions

Perceptions By Taalib Brown


My New York lens is covered in grime
A filth large enough to receive a fine and pass the city dumping line.
Pedestrians are rushing and racing to their cubby holes.
Trees leak a yellow-greenish sap the way sewers leak when overflowed.
Dogs barking boldly and their masters will not admonish.

These people look like untimely rainbows;
Colors brighten and diminish the urban shine.
Concrete worry-filled both cold and hot—
It makes an interesting combination.
Musky, stale air fills this subway station 
stacked with the second class,
Sprinkled with the first.

These windows shift from clean to dirty to water-stained
Whether in high altitude or on an underground train,
My windows are covered in stains.
They fog up like hot breath hit them and then remained.

Through my windows I see the hustle,
Fast cash changes hands,
Poor people where slave muzzles,
and color is more of a cover.

Pick up the man holes and let out the men.
Their homes are built from sticks—
Not bricks.
I feel like I’m a giant looking down from where I sit.

Too bad this view won’t last,
New York changes with every minute passed.



Copyright © taalib brown | Year Posted 2005