Best Wallets Poems
Because you’re a poet, that’s why
Behind the thick crimson and gold thread curtains
he stands listening to the din of the audience
searching their seats for popcorn crumbs
while roaming hands brush against the legs
of those sitting closest
The young girls get the winks
and free drinks as the old men
vie for position, straightening their hair
and flashing thick wallets
from stretched out back pockets
He peeks through the slit in the
fancy brocade drapes to find a full house,
everyone is here, the self imposed mayor
wearing a handmade campaign button
shakes hands and seeks signatures
Mrs. Broadmore assigns seats in her row
as the little people gather around, telling her
how beautiful she is while hoping for a glimpse
of the diamond crusted gin filled flask she keeps
tucked away in her left garter
The lights dim as the depressed sulk to their seats in the balcony,
broken hearts fill the back rows closest to the bar,
cheerleaders in pink lipstick and short skirts, the football team
all stoned out of their minds and the debate club collect in the center
while the pretty people, the wealthy pose in the front rows
He gets the signal as the curtain slowly lifts
to the ceiling on well oiled pulleys
There is not a sound as he makes his way
to the microphone at center stage, dead silence
but he reads his poem anyway
It is obvious he is no Leonard Cohen
but he does his best as he recites the verses
he has penned especially for this evening
Upon finishing he stares out as two people
clap their approval and the others whisper and look away
His shoulders drop as he leaves the stage,
head hung low, crumbling the paper he had read from
and tossing it in the trash as he wonders aloud, “Why, why do I do it?”
A janitor sweeping near the exit door hears him
and shaking his head replies, “Because you’re a poet, that’s why”
I reposted this poem because……..I like this one. : )
Exotic eyes stare back at me
a huge Heffner begging
for the attention of her musings
she dances and sways
in the darkness, the streetlights
highlight her deceptions
she thinks she stole my heart
blind, I see the meaning of true deceit
my wallets disappears between the sheets
she thinks she is silent
I hear every click
the credit cards makes
sadness stabs me
that the even the sheep are fake
kindness is a mask
on the canvas of life
make sure to paint the truth
Inspector Clouseau
has confirmed
the infidelity of it all
Sautéed scallops on the skirts of Italy
Debutantes of a chardonnay shimmy
Mediterranean terraces of broached stars
Gucci wallets moonlighting baroque hearts
Manolo Blahnik legs lavishly luring
High heel sculptures of effusive Etruscan art
Olive ties stirring perfumed Sicilian thighs
Inhaling fragrant glasses of jasmine jet eyes
Rosy secrets saturating burning blotted lips
Fiery fertile plumes of Pompeii's fresco kiss
Vesuvian silence preening suave sable hair
Folded napkins of toasted Venetian affairs
Love Spell.
By Pippa Gray
He's the soul for which I wait.
I'll feed him darkest sabre grapes
and lead him to a bed of moss,
with velvet spread and moonstained cloths.
His sweet and salty skin I'll bathe
in goats milk and black forest oats.
His will shall loose with every sip
of rose leaf tea with calamus.
Not king, nor prince, or knight or knave,
I chant his name just all the same.
And long I’ve gazed and fed the flames
and twisted grasses to his shape. Oh,
I could reel him in like cheated fish,
hooked on twisted lines of fibs
and dragged to heel to suffocate,
a'feared to meet his father’s fate.
But that’s for others, darker still,
who wield their wallets, pockets filled
with hypnotising sparkly bait and
wicked lures of titles gained.
No, I need only breathe and sing
into sad willows round his home,
a perfumed mist of liquorice,
the musk of me, and cinnamon.
Collaboration with Marcello Eans
Enough, Already!
Seriously people, when is enough… enough?
For too many of you, the answer is never.
How can a million a game be living in the rough?
Do you really want us to think that all of you suffer?
How many cars or houses do you really need?
Are you aware of the hunger problems in the world?
With what you get paid, there are millions you could feed.
Open your hearts (and wallets) to all those boys and girls.
Enough, Already!
I’m a committed employee devoted to your company,
Work 8 hours plus in a day, what more do you want from me?
Off days are scheduled, yet rarely taken.
I must 86 my agenda and the plans I’m makin’.
Medical insurance is a myth, vacation pay is a rumor.
I stare into the distance, reflect on the days of my sense of humor.
Truly, I ask myself, “Does this guy really deserve me?”
Enough, Already!
I come home from work after a long, hard day,
Hoping for some peace and quiet and maybe a little love.
Instead, “Where have you been?!?!” is all you have to say.
Our relationship should be more than what it’s made up of.
You constantly nag me to say how I feel about you,
But you never trust what I say when I hold you near.
Enough, already! There’s only so much I can do.
It’s time for me to go. There’s nothing more I want to hear.
O to be there again
Little boys dancing for calypso dimes
And the US marines, angelic in white
White rum frolicking in the chapel of their brain
Laughing like water on the ships grey side
Sons, fathers, husbands
Finding respite in the sedulous arms
Of intinerant lovers
Milking their wallets with sugarcane charms
Not that significant fact
That stalled my hunger many days
Is my longing now
But the friendhsips we share then
Bees swinging sibilant songs to tease
The honeyed flow from orange blossoms: hookers of the breeze
We fragment of a frantic civilization
Marginalized by the necessity
That sent us pirating sea shells
Selling purple throated conchs for breeze
Of charity satiated with alcohol and disease
And trees for white flesh of almond nuts
And a safe place to sleep
Above the coral theatre our clouds
Meandering like eyes over the city's
Barren breast in delicious idleness
I long for friends again like those
That made time's calcite hands beautiful
As a stalagmite
In our oppressor's concrete heart ...
My best imagination then
Was our racing kites tugging at clouds
For white puffs of affection.
Digital currency, the alternative to real cash,
decentralized crypto currency, that can be securely stashed.
No need for a bank, no central authority,
worldwide currency exchanges, this means no digital minorities.
Encrypted digital wallets on smart phones and computers,
you can by tickets, dinner, or investigate another dark net user.
The first BitCoin purchase was a pizza pepperoni,
the acrimonial cicerone of matrimonial alimony.
In other words the price will be paid for separating from the central authorities,
the banks, the global financial powers and whoever else can afford to BE.
Has BitCoin been tainted by SilkRoad and money laundering schemes,
or will the power of cash and credit cards come under the same scrutiny?
Economist wants to stop the misuse of BitCoin and maximize profits,
but there are powers and other interest who only want to stop it.
Paying your taxes with BitCoin may one day be a reality,
the internet of things and the dark net, we are interconnected by technology.
Yesterday, I went to an exhibit which showcased the native products of the place where I grew up. It was held at the entire fifth floor of one of the premier malls of the city where I now live. The place hummed with the welcoming sound of the region's familiar lilt, as I edged my way toward the kiosk to meet old friends.
leather and rhinestones
on abaca wallets and bags -
women at their prime
As I recognized each smiling face of former classmates from the all-girls school, the impersonal place turned into a warm, familiar one. Everybody knew everyone, at least in our group of twelve excited, chattering women eager to catch up on each other’s news. A late lunch after the show stretched into an even longer coffee at a nearby restaurant. We laughed as we recounted comedic classroom situations, times of mischief, and romantic trysts with old flames from the all-boys school across the street. The food was not particularly memorable. The moment was.
your face lights up
upon recognizing mine -
friendship survives time
We eventually broke into groups of threes or fours. My group, which included the batch Valedictorian, decided to continue our chat at another coffeeshop along the way. Each one shared personal angst, the latest in her career, and the familiar topic of loved ones. We parted around midnight, promising to keep in touch, a fitting end to a day which I will treasure for a long time. It was one of those breaks in my routine which I did not have to take, but I was happy I did.
in my journey
I saw a sign to stop -
time to smell the flowers
* abaca - hemp, material for bags, shoes, ropes, etc.
05 August 2015
For Scott37's HAIBUN
This haibun is adapted from my journal of a not so recent real event in my life.
Christmas day now over,
The turkeys now all dead.
While the bloated celebrators
Sleep their gorging off in bed.
No matter what it cost them.
(Though it cost the turkeys more),
They’d enjoyed the Christmas spirit
They’d invited through their door.
With plastic in their wallets
To finance their spending spree,
They ensured that all they’d purchased
Was on show for all to see.
They let family, friends and colleagues
Know what Christmas really means,
That by spending, spending, spending
You can purchase all your dreams.
Alas for all tomorrows
They may have to scrimp and save,
While the lucky Christmas turkeys
All lie peaceful in their graves!
Ivor G Davies
There were things of mine in the drawers that could be thrown out,
But I kept gravitating to the things that were his.
His Public School 45 autograph book. It was red, white, and blue leatherette with
a zipper.
Inside was his hand, writing the names of favorite teachers,
And the dreams of the future you have when you are 13.
His father, an old world German who never shared himself,
left ink blotches of emotion under his hand.
In another drawer, the fancy leather passport wallet complete with passport and
photo.
He was 16.
I don’t remember him talking about anything else with the same twinkle in his
heart
As he did about the 6 months he spent in Germany.
Here is a poem written to him on his 40th birthday,
by his best friend in the world.
The gift made so much better because it was so unlike this IBM Executive
to write personal poetry full of memories.
There was an untouched underwear drawer.
Belt buckles.
Cards of love and joy that I had given to him over many years.
A collection of Christmas wallets.
A yo-yo. Gift from a child with nothing else to give.
Old prescription glasses. Why do we keep those? Pocket knives, hankies.
A sweater and socks I knitted for him,
Always said they were too good to wear.
I store them still.
Every drawer I opened, every cupboard, every box stored away throughout the
whole house had something of his tucked away within.
A stray bullet or black powder ball. A toothpick holder.
A cork screw. A flint, patches, pictures of his ‘49 Olds, a comb, a watch, pocket
treasures.
~ Maybe if I go clean someplace safe like the fridge.
And there was the bottle of Zeller Schwartz Katz wine
bought for the coming Christmas season of entertaining.
This is foolishness, hanging on.
In spite of saving all this stuff
the hole in me is still there. ...
But I just could not throw him away.
The ballot is stronger than a "bullet"
People pik their voter's cards from their "wallets"
They vote for a candidate,they want to "elect"
It's the LORD's decision who to "elevate"
Unity,oneness,in this country,lets "motivate"
Hate speech,let's all "eject"
Evil influencies, we people "reject"
Between two contenders, we voters "evaluate"
The best brains,with "big dreams",good morals",
we "select"
The bullet kills,the ballot does "seperate"
Where we lose, let's conceade, it's never too "late"
The sirens and mermaids
called up from the deep,
untangled mesh nets
blithely held out by sleep.
There the first to emerge
were the sighs and the nods,
they sank then resurfaced
in clear Morphean pods.
I found myself wandering
on a wide stretch of beach.
My mind squeezed like a lemon,
my thoughts fuzzed like a peach.
When the sheet of fog lifted,
I walked through the haze,
what’d been transfixed by the night
now transformed into day.
Bands of green kelp
had encircled my feet.
Sand dollars tossed out
from the wallets of seas.
The tang in the air
by the water and brine,
awoke to my senses
other days hazed by time.
Sunk then in a sinkhole;
my heart now clanged a bell!
I was no longer an oyster
in a barnacled shell.
I kicked off the seaweed,
splashed through the shoreline,
feeling refreshingly freed
from that soul ravaged time.
I knew I’d still wonder
about Calamity Clam.
Had he hid from the onslaught,
become a sea star’s sea ham?
Ouf…no longer my problem,
I was no agent by rights.
Then I stepped on an object
and, out went the lights!
I hopped in frustration
with great hurt I did bow.
I bellowed out pain
like an angry sea cow.
With one mighty scoop
he was constained in my hand.
How to dispose of the despicable?
I felt seared by a brand.
Covertly I gazed
at this nemesis of fear.
Then I gave a smart tug
to his mossy green beard.
The thoughts that I harbored
were not of my decree.
I hurled him out, with three skips,
he sank back into the sea.
I’d like to tell you a short story of me,
From being important to being alone.
Like when I was in the middle of the stadium,
And I was the one that was thrown.
When I was new, I was clean, I was shiny,
And I held everyone by the hand.
And I was the most important friend to the kids,
My value they could all understand.
I’ve traveled the country so many times,
In pockets, wallets, purses, and back packs.
And I’ve been through every poker machine,
And used in games of blackjack.
I spent years in the bottom of a sealed up coin box,
And under the mat in the car.
And I’ve been in every donation tin,
And in every work office coin jar.
But at last my life of being valued has changed,
I’m out of circulation as of today.
I’m now important in this glass sealed cabinet,
A member of a coin collection forever on display.
As my father in law's Alzheimer's progressed he became very concerned with the contents of his wallet. We gave him a pretend credit card, fake money and his driver's license. It made him happy.
My first wallet had a cowboy hat on the face and stitching around the side,
It was stamped in gold lettering as being made from genuine split rawhide.
It carried whatever few coins I had then it zipped my money to safely guard,
And in the ID slot I stuffed my Hopalong Cassidy Jr. Deputy Sheriff card.
My next wallet was one that my father gave to me when I found summer work,
I now had a couple of bucks to stash and my new driver’s license was a perk.
My bride gave me a wallet for my birthday when we were just newly wed,
She wrote a note that she put inside, “let’s fatten this up” is what it said.
So it became fattened with pictures of the kids that made up our family,
And to those photos I added the grandkid’s as grandpa became my identity.
This father’s day I got a wallet and my daughter made two cards to use for my ID,
The first one says that if this wallet is found please return it to room 237 for me.
I don’t know why she made the other one, why I need it I haven’t got a clue,
It explains to anyone that if I am found please take me back there too.
This lush green and putrefying smell is in what I rejoice.
Some humidity is enough for me to glide to and fro,
on dead leaves, under rotting branches...among preys and predators;
no limit of land and no society to dictate my behavior.
The earth of God, I revere for the livelihood it provides to me.
I know not why you brought partition in our unique home,
to rule ruthlessly upon me and other jungle lives.
I’m a danger to you with my venom but you are more dangerous
to me with a filthy mind, developed to victimize my race.
You track me even in this deep jungle, no longer your land.
Your toxin is far more toxic; you kill your own unnecessarily!
I work hard to find my survival and protect my family but
you exploit me to extortion, to enhance your own life;
in zoos, in labs, my skin in bags and wallets, my corpse
in museums and paradoxically revere me for fantasies and boons!
I defend my home as you do but segregation and discrimination
is your very nature, foolish man; you are thus doomed to ceaseless misery.
One dances to your rod, one wags its tail while another carries your burden;
you befriend them all deviously to discard them after use.
I pray one day you come back to where you belonged,
in the lush green, to know your worth and recognize God is only one;
certainly not as you describe!
7/02/17