Best Small Change Poems
Silent, she slips from her stronghold’s security,
safely tucked high on the cliff in her nest.
Cautious, she stays in the shadows afforded her,
sorrowful, hesitant, missing the rest.
Her parents and siblings had sought out the sunshine,
flying the open air, learning their craft.
Soaring and diving, they basked in the currents;
she, feeling poorly, by chance, had stayed back.
Sounds like a cannon had rung out above her;
shrieking and screaming, she watched the first fall.
Caught in the open with no chance for cover,
savagely, swiftly, death came for them all.
Hugging the hillside, she used the thick foliage,
bobbing and weaving, avoiding the limbs,
calling on instincts she knew not inside her,
fine-tuned adjustments through flexes and trims.
Cover was ending; the ocean awaited her.
Her heart was racing, her mind strangely clear.
Mother had taught her to seek out the currents;
a warm water pocket meant updrafts were near.
Tucking, she dove as she flew in the open,
a bullet herself, towards shiny blue glass.
Braking so subtly, just at the last moment,
she shot across wave tops, dizzily fast.
There! A small change in the water beneath her.
Pulling up hard, she flapped skyward and soared.
Where she was headed lay unknown before her,
on past the sunset to some distant shore.
Categories:
small change, flying,
Form:
Quatrain
"Selkie"
Tomorrow never comes
shadows dance on walls
the wanting of bodies electric
pressed fast and tight
in the hot surrender
of wet sheets sailing
over solitary satin skin
neroli oiled slick in the scent
of a foreigner's musk
bitter sweet orange and honey
touched in the moment
by a hint of green
limbs tangled
like climbing jasmine
wild orchid
drips off moist fingertips
a rapture rising in notes
piercing velvet chords
stroked out from cherry stained lips
caught on the turn of a tongue
not spoken
as you turn relentlessly
in the tumultuous burning
Sea of Dreams
graced by tears
kissed fresh by
saltwater lips
Ocean eyes
breezes in
towards your
rising twin peaks
whispers over your forest
where the wild lives
a warm breath delivered in the
hollows of the curves
of your waist
fascinated by
something
incomplete
he’s replete
with poetic
soft roped nets
your sung in
like a Selkie
you shed your skin
living naked
eyes half open and drugged
in the sensual unspoken
But you are never kept;
for the moment
suspended
you let him in
but he doesn’t
own your skin
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
"...And if some lover, such as we,
Have heard this dialogue of one,
Let him still mark us, he shall see
Small change, when we’are to bodies gone."
("The Ecstasie"/John Donne)
"...When thou knew'st what I dreamt, when thou knew'st when
Excess of joy would wake me, and cam'st then,
I must confess, it could not choose but be
Profane, to think thee any thing but thee."
(The Dream/ John Donne)
""I was thinking of Bourbon Street
in New Orleans when I wrote it -
I was getting ready to go there and I thought:
what the f--k do I think I'm going to find?
It's about the incredulity that I
could still be fooled into looking
for a perfect moment."
(about "Fascination Street" / Robert Smith, The Cure)
Categories:
small change, desire, freedom, lust, muse,
Form:
Free verse
Get
Original!
Feel
Optimism
Rising. . .
Inspire
Triumph!
Oct. 2, 2019
for Bobby May's 'Three Word Acrostics ' Poetry Contest
(small change in last part to avoid some readers' confusion)
Categories:
small change, inspirational,
Form:
Acrostic
When you are living on the street
depressed, lonely, hungry, and beat,
begging coins for something to eat;
you need more than a smile.
People scoff and offer small-change
labeling you as weird or strange,
treating you like you had the mange;
each day is a trial.
You pray someone will help you out;
a kind soul that won't mess about,
but wipe your tears and calm your doubt;
and go that extra mile.
Categories:
small change, angst, anxiety, emotions, fate,
Form:
Verse
The things you do are not worthy of compliments.
I thought even someone like you would have more sense.
Sometimes I wish you would stay on the other side of the fence.
Inside your cranium, there does not appear to be much room.
That is why you have always been a boomboom.
So often, you would display a puerile scene.
Nobody else I know would break a slot machine.
Your impetuous action was something not too keen.
Inside your cranium, there does not appear to be much room.
That is why you have always been a boomboom.
Nobody likes it when you rant in a vociferous way.
Your deleterious actions seem to be here to stay.
Nothing has ever changed. It’s the same from day to day.
Inside your cranium, there does not appear to be much room.
That is why you have always been a boomboom.
Whenever it is payday, you run off to a casino.
You disregard your bills and obligations, and off you go.
In no time at all, you no longer have any dough.
Inside your cranium, there does not appear to be much room.
That is why you have always been a boomboom.
The way you act in public appears bizarre and strange.
The family and few friends you have are treated like small change.
Is there a possibility your brain we can rearrange?
Inside your cranium, there does not appear to be much room.
That is why you have always been a boomboom.
Categories:
small change, slam,
Form:
Rhyme
A Comrade like Ben
A statesman like Mandela diplomatically
suspended the necessary struggle of opposites,
gummed his fragmented land together with reconciliation….
exploiters to exploited , murderers to martyrs
imperialist to invisibled indigenes
lives in Sandton and councils Bill Clinton
and Naomi Campbell on plush carpets
a sinewy activist, hard as nails, like yourself…
Ben Palmer Louw, always
cajoling
conspiring
criticizing
organising
uprising
forever
beautiful in your pregnant concern
that freedom , dignity and justice
is tangible and beautiful as black skin, kinky hair
is real when a continent’s wealth is fairly shared
is manifested when the state collapses in selfless deeds
old man Nelson turned ninety and is now a teddy
to those who feared the terrorist at forty.
He no longer speak for himself but for his party
and the party is a self-serving affair.
Pity your death at thirty-something
when Nelson started talking to his racist oppressors.
For ten years you and your young militant army
punctured holes in the racist ideology,
marched flames and thunder through townships,
died in your thousands,
stopping with blood and bones
bullets casted for centuries by the fascist
in black holes of greed and fear.
“A shame … but subversion is to blame ”
`` the defenders of law and order loudly exclaimed
“Not good for business”…the moneybags conceded
“ if Soweto bleeds , profit –rates receeds . ”
“Give black chiefs and compradors the garrotte
and stick the small change of capital under their nose .
They will throttle the radical noises at the root ”.
Wounded deeply, your rapid-firing baritone voice
still thundered on battle-fields and in halls,
urging us to destroy mental and wage slavery.
I saw you fight for freedom
the whole scorching way,
every hour of that long bloody apartheid day…
but one night
you leaped ,
proud black brother of mine,
right into the sky…
fist raised high as heaven with a two-hour smile
whispering re-assuringly “Don’t ever give up, gents…
the harder they come , the harder they fall.
See… brothers and sisters…revolution is!
In memory and respect to Ben Palmer Louw (1950-1987)a student leader of 1976 soweto insurrection
Categories:
small change, history, inspirational, loss, political,
Form:
Elegy
(Dedication: For Ann)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Take things easy with mahjong game,
Watch with sure gaze discards that tell;
Thought strategy works the sly frame,
Let poise forge maze as moves work well.
Each card you stack can fit the groove,
Note how blocks spread in clusters here;
Align sure knack with steady moves,
Each move is read in mental spheres.
From East to West, the game goes round,
The dragon trail and winds that blow;
Cards that work fest on solid grounds,
Smooth numbers sail in sets that show.
Chinese word craft calligraphy,
Marbles that stray, bamboo needles;
Hurl thrill and blast as mindset frees,
The seasons stay power struggles.
Round the table, each player treks
Each counter move with cards at hand;
Spread the sparkle in winning deck,
Windfall now proves a lucky trend.
Four seasons swirl in circle trip,
The winds of change weave tidal range;
Feel blocks unfurl a winning grip,
Luck works things strange in web of change.
So here we go round the four winds,
The moments cast an active spin;
Moves lost and found from thoughts unseen,
Counter moves last to bring home grins.
Mahjong table chat can reveal lots,
So much at stake to zero in;
Share bits of fat as gossip slots,
Force choice in takes that hustle win.
And at the end, count our winnings,
Compile and see how each did fare;
Did crafty blend reap fine endings,
Or purse empty of small change take.
Let fancy style mahjong tiles here,
Mix and mingle acrylic blocks;
Just for a while buzz gambles dear,
Cash now sprinkles pleasant fond talk.
Leon Enriquez
27 June 2015
Singapore
Categories:
small change, blessing,
Form:
Quatrain
WHERE DO THEY GO?
Warm summer day Sunday morning family outing
To church to give thanks for God's goodness
That old lady again sitting at the church entrance
All day she collects pennies from parishioners
And maybe a sandwich from a picnic left over
Tossed in a trash can with flies buzzing around
I toss her my sixty five cents small change from my back pocket.
I guess she’s there all day, but at day’s end where does she go?
Maybe a shared old mattress in a wrecked basement up for demolition
Or a shelter for the night run by the Salvation Army
Could be just in the grassy verge of a roadside parking area?
After all it is summer and the nights are not cold really.
Anyhow, it gets dark and she just disappears
Thank God - out of sight out of mind
In the darkness she can’t be seen any more
Makes no impact on my suburban mentality
Doesn’t disturb my late night tv with Letterman
And my nightcap of Johnny Walker before the hot milk and bed.
We chat before sleep my wife and I about the day
And forget the old lady at the church entrance.
She has no Letterman or Walker
No chat with a close one before sleep
A sleep perhaps disturbed by drug addicts stumbling over her in the dark
Or rousted by the cops for trespass, or frightened by stray dogs in a pack.
I can sleep easy, I did my bit with the sixty five cents in my back pocket.
Good night.
When I was small my mum used to ask where do the flies go in wintertime?
Just to puzzle and amuse me
Of course she didn’t explain that they don’t actually go anywhere
But the cold simply finishes off all those dirty nuisances
And makes the air clean and pleasant
After the summer plagued by those unwanted useless creatures.
.................................................................................
Categories:
small change, old, mum, drug,
Form:
Free verse
I liked its comforting and quiet
Enclosure from the time and rain
Designed to be impossible to sleep in
(Some vagrant friends reported miseries)
Shutting out the rest of the world
It became a space for answers
A sea-shell or confessional
Calming the small change of your soul
Adored no less by travellers
No doubt for its already ancient
Novelty it would not admit
The weak or infirm to its secrets
And such room inside limited
Admittance or forced proximity
Upon us if we shared a call.
Revered by Mum and Dad as
One familiar part of modern living
To me unvalued then missed
As a lost limb when it was gone.
Categories:
small change, change, england, social, travel,
Form:
Blank verse
The Butterfly Effect
By MEH3
I want to fly around
like a butterfly
Enjoying the breeze on
a pleasant summer day
To spread my wings I must grow
from this little seed
That was left on a leaf
to find its own way
But some day
you will say
look at him fly
While I am soaring in the sky
Not understanding my molting stages
Only to go hide
inside this cocoon of mine
In order to fly
I am so excited
to start this new life
A new beginning
What a sight
I realized that
my caterpillar days
was the only way
for Him to transform me into what I am today
So, as I enjoy this splendid summer day
I must say that today
looks a lot better
than my yesterday
Realizing that a small change
can turn into
an amazing day
As I experience this butterfly effect!
#ItzMeThePoet
12/14/15
Categories:
small change, beauty, change, growing up,
Form:
PANHANDLING IN ALMATY
Used to think I was street smart till a couple of years ago
Touring in Almaty*, strolling the street, looking western, you know.
Young guy comes up to me and shows me a large bill and asks for small change.
Foreign language….who knew? I got out all my coins and offered to exchange:
He took them all politely. He walked slowly to another tourist and then
Politely did exactly the same thing again.
I’d never seen this con, asking for small change - misleadingly simple ruse -
But not in exchange for his large bill : gambling that tourists he would confuse.
I reckoned his income was greater than mine, maybe 50 000 bucks a year.
Panhandling in Almaty makes a profit big and clear.
………………………………………………………………………………………………
*Almaty is the largest city in Kazakhstan. The city was formerly
called Alma Ata, and it used to be the Kazakh capital.
Categories:
small change, adventurecity, me, , western,
Form:
Couplet
AS I GROW OLD
As I grow old
I'll never miss another boat, or train, or flight
Because
Silence becomes a pocket book of fat cash
I know where to put small change.
As I grow old, I behold
The bigger picture in life is the eye
Not that eye stuck on itself
Not that eye color blind
Not that eye afraid of depth and height.
Women are the eyes that weep for humanity
When we're together; though far apart, men conspire we're rich
What makes women rich?
We are forgiving, nurturing, and
When all else fails, we are flashlight in the dark.
As I grow old, it appears
My age won't bury a heart so young
Who would confound a butterfly?
And what is a home without the breath of God?
As I grow old, I behold
The bigger picture in life unites
The core of man cannot stand alone, and
For that reason, we have two eyes;
One of depth and faces forward.
*
Categories:
small change, age, appreciation, blessing, caregiving,
Form:
Free verse
Abalone steps,
below coffee break arches.
Move along small change!
Categories:
small change, house,
Form:
Haiku
Reflections at Midnight
while spending sleepless hours
like they were nothing but small change.
By day my mind swells
with that old '50s song I heard
down at the antique mall,
and keeps repeating it
over and over.
Then at night my brain
has to obsessively
has to obsessively
recycle every trivial event
happening in my life
and repeating that routine
over and over.
Admission to this movie
is free to adults.
I envy the children
sleeping so soundly
sleeping so soundly
after a day of play.
As for me, I ask myself,
when do I get to sleep?
It feels like I'm sucked
into a whirlpool
of infinite dreams,
like I'm caught
in a cycle of infinite regressions,
in a cycle of infinite regressions.
Categories:
small change, memory, night,
Form:
Free verse
Recepticle: One of a kind
It was a thoughtful gift
in the shape of her heart
Symbolic inscription-
"Love's Everlasting Hopes"
kept next to the front door
In shadow, in half-light.
She kept her car keys there.
Small change, new receipts
pins and paperclips, pens
lipstick, bangles, spare things...
Simple concave, convex
Moulded mind-heart shape
Porcelain pale shadow
Clear intent left it there
Till the time came when smirk smile
black hate eyes stepped inside
sleight of hand side-swipe flick
despise, devalue, discard
done with splitting, slitting
pound of flesh sacrifice-
So easy to replace,
no end to his supplies
She only had One Heart
for him, no Big Surprise,
a common vessel trade
for his communal use
Belly feels deep pity
for its now shattered state,
She drops to hands and knees
Picks up each fragile piece
bright blood drips from fresh cuts
thin red lines smear love read,
Torn vessel spills plasma
tears, love is precious life
Dustpan holds bits and pieces...
Impulse to throw away
Hesitation- thoughtful
ancient wisdom whispers,
revalue all for gain
Again, a gain, again
She knows what she can do...
Fix it with liquid gold
Now it gleams in the dark.
A Receptacle Poem: One of a kind
Aqua Marine Poems.
Restructured from my original poem posted in 2016.
Categories:
small change, beautiful, care, change, confidence,
Form:
Free verse