Best Wallet Poems
My wallet has credit cards
And my I.D.
(My license to drive
With a picture of me.)
My library card and
My store discount stash
Share limited space with
My limited cash.
Insurance I.D.'s,
Safety pins and receipts
Nestle next to my photos,
Such room-hogging treats.
Appointment reminders,
My pass for the Zoo
Stretch the leather along with
My Garden pass, too.
Add a band-aid and stamps
And a bunch of loose change;
When I take out my wallet,
Folks look at me strange.
I bought a small pocketbook -
Thought I would try it -
But first off, my wallet
Must go on a diet!
Non descript brown wallet
Slightly bent at the edges
Indent of cards on leather
Inside is a Driver’s license
Credit card
Debit card
Building pass
Right hand side
Photos of children
Train pass
Metro card
Retail card from a drug store chain
Six singles in front
Larger denominations in rear
Five, tens and one twenty
Tucked behind the photos
Is an extra twenty dollar bill.
Thumbing through the wallet
Nothing else is found
Contents spilled out onto a formica desk
A life for all to see
Scrutinized under bright fluorescent light
Nothing extraordinary
Just everyday ordinary.
How do we tell the family?
In front the table
Filled with hustlers and gamblers
Wallet ripped open
Uncle Scrooge had lost his wallet
He went mad and chased a pullet
He fell down the glen
Ended in cow pen
Mr.Scrooge had to bite the bullet
A man with cash shopped at a used car lot
Where met a cute, winsome young harlot
Smiling, he took it in stride
When she offered him a ride
He loved the trip ‘til he missed his wallet.
Money in the wallet is worth a million in the market!
All rights released into Public Domain
It is true that I
in my years of life, never
seen such emptiness.
and she stares back
through the small window
placed precariously on the hearth
catching my sporadic glimpse.
this morning is different
an interrupted rendezvous,
a young man your arm holds
casting that familiar smile
(One plus one equals two)
these voices remind me through
a Pablo Neruda window sill
exiled by the note found
wants I should know you.
a smile torments my memory
twisting a distant storm
unable to produce rain,
stirs clouds of silt vanished footprints.
you have evaporated now,
your pedestal seated high
next to life’s marble vase;
never aging
always new
hidden behind a false wall
as something haunts me
misplaced like an old shoe
understands the process,
while womb to air
escapes without an imprint
On Friday night whilst I, in boredom, was channel hopping,
through lots of rubbishy programmes, including shopping.
I regret to admit that I found me,
reached out to and touched by satellite, God TV,
Lots of pop singers and glamour there,
and a message for all the lost young kids to share,
oh it's so good to be good, and how they really, really care.
Then came the request to every person who feels they can,
to give as much money as possible, to help their fellow man.
Now call me cynical, but questions do arise,
who actually gets the cash, and would it be wise,
for me to simply shrink the size,
of my bank account, to give it to,
someone who preaches one thing, but who,
is really in it for their own gain?
Leaving those in need to retain their pain.
Smiley, smiley, yes indeed, we are true believers of our creed,
no other people have ever been so truly freed,
can't you see that clearly all other beliefs are wrong?
That we are oh so right, and we are also very strong.
So follow us and sing out loud for the salvation of your soul,
join us on our journey, and we will mend the hole,
in your life that you really need to have filled.
before any hope within you ends up being killed!
It would be nice to believe they do it solely for the cause,
but unfortunately, my time on Earth, makes me take a pause
to weigh up all the pros and cons of each and every offer,
especially those supposedly from God which the keys to Heaven proffer.
I only know that if there is a God he or she lives in everyone,
and that he or she never existed before human consciousness came along.
I've got Jesus's face on a wallet insert
by Michael R. Burch
for the Religious Right
I've got Jesus's face on a wallet insert
and "Hell is for Queers" on the back of my shirt.
And I uphold the Law,
for Grace has a Flaw:
the Church must have someone to drag through the dirt.
I've got ten thousand reasons why Hell must exist,
and you're at the top of my fast-swelling list!
You're nothing like me,
so God must agree
and slam down the Hammer with His Loving Fist!
For what are the chances that God has a plan
to save everyone: even Boy George and Wham!?
Eternal fell torture
in Hell's pressure scorcher
will separate *****from Man.
I'm glad I'm redeemed, ecstatic you're not.
Did Christ die for sinners? Perish the thought!
The "good news" is this:
soon My Vengeance is his!,
for you're not the lost sheep I sought.
Keywords/Tags: Religion, Christ, Christianity, Jesus, Heaven, Hell, Gay, Homo, Homosexual, *****, Queers, Law, Grace, Save, Salvation, Eternal Torture, Redeemed, Sinner, Sinners, Sheep, Shepherd, Vengeance, Satire, Parody
My wallet,
Made of shining black leather.
I bought it a decade ago,
From a Lacoste shop.
It fitted well in the rear pockets
Of my blue denims.
It was happy,
Stuffed and loaded with notes,
Of different strengths.
It even looked overjoyed when
I tucked in your photograph
in one of its slots with a tiny window.
Whenever I took it out,
It smelt like a bank, and
we, my wallet and I,
Were a pair of happy-go-luckies.
Despite its blindness,
It could perceive, to my amazement,
The shades from the smells:
Of cash in particular, and of
Seasons, apparels, wine,
And earrings in general.
My wallet
Retired with me a year ago, and
The both of us knew,
Happy days would be over soon.
I remember the night,
When I heard it murmuring under the pillow,
With unusual stammering and nudging.
Worried about its restlessness,
I asked,
- what's wrong with you?
After a long silence,
I heard it saying,
- what are these stiff cards for?
- the sharp edges are cutting my belly.
- where are the sweet smelling notes?
- what good is it, for me, to be folded,
- without the invincible greens?
- I'm missing them like never before, and
- my pouch is empty. I'm starved.
I had no answers, and
Sadly remained silent.
My wallet
Is aged and slow now.
Tiny dog-ears are growing out of its corners, and
A foul stench emits from its bruised and
No longer neat leathery folds.
However,
It hasn't lost its sense of aromas, and
Money-wise arithmetical brilliance.
It hates ATMs, and complains
When I slide in a two-grand note into its fold,
- what are you feeding me with?
- you think I'm a tramp, huh!
- what is this scrap of cheap paper for?
- and two-grand in one ordinary print!
- For heaven's sake,
- how am i going to say 'keep the change',
- after i buy you a twenty bucks cup of latte?
- it isn't my kind of accompaniment,
- begone with it, goddammit!
This is money now - I replied helplessly.
And my wallet never speaks to me again.
Bulge In Your Wallet
From the bulge in your wallet
I can see the outline of a ring
Are you sure you are ready?
To be carrying that kind of thing
Don’t allow pressure to make you do
Something you’re not ready for
The consequence of your actions
Is nothing to ignore
Have you thought it through?
Is a moment’s pleasure worth the cost?
I come here as a friend
I’m not trying to be your boss
But the thought of you doing something
That could affect your entire life
Has given me reason for concern
Reason to feel such strife
There is no doubt you feel you’re old enough
Physically you’re probably right
But mentally are you ready?
For what happens in the night
If you’re sure you are ready
And I can’t change your mind
Make sure that condom in your wallet
Is used every time
On my way to work this morning,
Sandwiched between two perverts,
I opened my eyes to look beyond the sky;
Someday, I will be out of this bus!
Standing in an overloaded BRT is quite a challenge,
Different flavors of armpit odor diffused through the air;
From the rotten tomato to the concentrated ammonia and decomposing rat flavor,
Certainly someday, I will be out of this bus!
My wallet gives me hope..yes I’m saving...
Someday, I shall ride my own car,
And enjoy the warmth of its air-conditioned aura.
I shall cruise this whole city with joy in my heart,
Silently acknowledging passengers in the BRT.
As we approached the unfriendly atmosphere of Oyingbo market,
Polluted by chili pepper powder;
Passengers sneezed and coughed as they inhaled the air;
Simultaneously arguing about opening or closing the windows.
Everyone seemed confused;
I was more bothered about the phlegm from the old man that had dropped on my cheek!
Amidst all these, I still tried to wear a smile,
Yes, my fat wallet gives me hope.
I shall begin my driving classes in the coming year;
Certainly someday, I will be out of this bus!
Alas, we got to the bus stop.
Everyone pushed, squeezed, trampled upon, and cursed one another.
Everyone wanted to alight at the same time...
I waited in the now spacious vehicle of receding putridity;
Receding passengers I mean...
So I could alight in peace when the rush was over.
I checked to see that my dress wasn't too rumpled,
Lo and behold! My handbag was wide open.
?With trembling fingers, I delved into it...
Wallet had disappeared!!!
Listen...carefully,
and ye kin hear
the muffled (dollar us -
dolorous) sound ache
king plaintive very loosely
analogous to duck cry
of mourning, didst awake
ken to the somber news
solemnly shared by
me - Doctor Quackenbush,
sans strapping beefcake
quaking counterpart, thee
lifetime beau he mien
(rhapsodic) paramour got betake
hen to "Heaven's Gate,"
after getting bitten
by a blacksnake,
which squished, slithered, and
shimmied secretly stole
said tasty morsel without brake
king (her/his) stride,
and dug poisonous
(scorpion like) fangs
geese hilly as
one would slice cake,
which revelatory brief
anecdote mentioned cuz,
this medical professional caretake
person, (whose doppelganger
quadruples, i.e. moonlights
as an expert 1. cheesecake
maker, 2. fisherman known
far and wide (across four
compass points of the globe)
as one awesome clambake
expert, 3. seismograph specialist
predicting, where and
when an earthquake
will strike, and 4. hide
bound blithe tanner preparing
leather made goods,
particularly handsome wallets
(sewn from snake skin),
the most popular item
(possibly because, one crisp Benjamin
Franklin legally tendered
secreted within a pouch),
thus upon cutting open
(preparation for crafting bill folds)
this one well fed squamate,
lo and behold
revealed poor soul mate,
which family member
Anatidae resembled friedcake.
Wallet is empty
Heart with no money
This pencil and pad
Make me very glad
It’s all that I have
Scribbling down words
Of things that are me
Things that make me sad
Or make me real mad
The inside of me
Is what you can read
Times might seem quite bad
A chump with a pen
Scrub with some paper