Spare a thought for tiny penny,
how sad those folks that haven't any.
It's the smallest coin of the realm
and made of copper, like a charm.
Those who don't even have a stitch
they could become immensely rich
if only others to them brought
a shiny penny for each thought.
No second Chances. Just thinking out loud.
People gather in the crimson heat
For summer adventures when they meet.
Their chaos release,
But I like my peace
Writing in my poetry book - sweet!
I sold my brother's coin collection for a fix/
Police and thieves/
Coke n smack, synth riffs and puffs
Jack McDuff, Sure ’Nuff ’n funk for you/
My life is on freeze, please don't tease
Pop the beat, heroin junkies down the street
Hookers trickin' where we used to meet/
Jazz horn and the abstract truth
The cross is afraid of women's rights/
Stay on the fight, the truth is right
Lo-fi delights while eating shrooms/
Mojave Desert eagle walk
While wearing peyote buttons round my neck
As we talked, a raven's feather flew in her hair
She was high on acid and said
I looked like a shaman dancing with a bear/
Ivory light fades
at solstice.
A coin in my hand
reminds me
that life is spent.
Still, I hold hope.
When darkness comes,
I rise.
Personal Challenge:
Theme: Mortality
Emotion: Hope
Color: Ivory
Season: Solstice
Form: Free Verse
Object: Currency
Verb: Rise
Nazism and Zionism are two clear faces of the same coin, racism!
A coin spins once
on the warm windowsill~
thin ring of light,
quick shimmer,
a brief bright circle
trying to stay
in the day
a little longer.
Coin for Zoltar
On carnival night the bulbs burned low and gold,
I stood before Zoltar's wooden chest,
Turbaned prophet, tall with painted eyes of cold,
Yet burning like a secret fate confessed.
I dropped a coin of sorrow in his slot,
Heard gears hum soft beneath the dreaming glass,
My heart sprang open, unlocked by what time could not:
A flood of cherished memories let loose at last.
"Speak," I whispered to the oracle of wood,
"Can dreams wear flesh? Can lost hearts meet?"
His crystal gaze weighed all I could,
Then night ignited, warm beneath my feet.
And there, oh there, my beloved stepped through light,
A sunrise stitched in human skin,
My face bloomed, cherry blossoms after rain at night,
Joy spilling out like wine from cup to chin.
His smile, an enchanted lantern in the dark,
Wrapped my soul in velvet, dream-soft, true,
We danced on air, our laughter left a spark
That turned the harsh world into something new.
Reality may bite, but Zoltar knows this art:
Hope's a coin we spend against despair.
So I stand here still, beneath his watchful heart,
One coin of sorrow gone, one coin of hope still there.
(“Dark Pool of Light Nebula #3”, 2011, original oil)
Excited and inspired
Hurt and in need of healing
Bored and disillusioned
Three sides of a coin
We toss
Again and again
Compulsive gamblers all
Until the game is done
And the ferryman collects
(6/8/26)
Whomever coined the phrase
'A penny for your thoughts'
also phrased a coin
one would think
and what a pretty penny too
as one ought
now a penny saved is a penny earned
so I won't spend it on things you thunk
for my word is my bond
and I don't invest in junk
I have yet to see pennies from heaven
fall from the wild blue sky on high
but hope I do and if I catch a few
with wishful thinking
into the fountain they will well fly
yet should I spend a penny
on this or any other day
it would literally be
a penny pissed away
In realms where Time's the coin we spend,
Each tick and tock, a life-earned wage,
I'd hoard each breath, 'til purpose blend,
No moment squandered on an empty page.
My labor's worth? The measured heartbeats lent,
A craftsman's skill, in hours distilled,
To purchase dreams, a soul's intent,
A tapestry of moments, artfully filled.
To buy compassion, I'd a season spare,
A helping hand, a listening ear,
For solace shared, a burden to bear,
Investing Time to quell another's fear.
The rich, of course, would ages own,
Immortality, their gilded prize,
While paupers rush, their life force shown,
In hurried steps, beneath Time's watchful eyes.
But wisdom whispers, Time's true wealth,
Lies not in owning years untold,
But savoring each moment, finding health,
In stories lived, and futures to behold.
So, I would spend my Time with grace,
Each second cherished, light and free,
Embracing life, at my own pace,
A timeless legacy, for all to see.
I am two dollars a coin away from help
But the clank of life
left me unadorned
I abhor the spirit that the doesn’t scream
Because I scream
To the telephone screen
I’m revolted by the volts of pain
Spread from phone
To phone box pane
The sticky flow of the scent of blood
Interests my intent
Its memory hugs:
The phone,
The screen,
The glass,
Your next to me in speech
But your speech is not sweet
For two dollars a coin
We meet twice a week
The floor is bad and stable
But never when I need
This grasp of horror holds me
And never lets me leave
I am not a spirit
I am not the floor
I am only a drop of blood
I cascade like shadow beneath the weary feet
Of a telephone tree
Like terrible intelligent beings
I whittle away
Like God and his lineage
I disappear
Till the telephone rings
And I bleed with despair
Or a change of life chimes
For two dollars a coin
And I ask to be freed
From the telephone screen
But the phone doesn’t ring
And it makes me feel weak.
For two dollars a coin
We meet twice a week
Only two dollars a coin
To make me feel free
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I find them~
in the cracks of asphalt
in streets and parking lots.
They are copper pilgrims,
their heads bowed down,
waiting for my hand.
Some are slick with rain,
others dull as old bones,
but each one carries
the weight of a wish
someone forgot to make.
I gather them like
tiny suns, warm
from the sidewalk’s breath,
until my pockets sag
with the gravity
of abandoned luck.
I pry one from the teeth of a gutter~
Lincoln’s face half-eaten
by time.
Still,
I take it home,
lay it on the windowsill
where the light
could baptize it anew.
What is a coin
but a story paused mid-sentence?
I am the archaeologist
of small fortunes,
excavating where
no one else looks.
Someday, I will leave them
in places where hands
might need them more~
tucked under bus seats,
balanced on ledges,
for the next believer
to pocket a tiny prayer.
make an effort
invest in love
love ungiven
is unforgiven
in eternity
I make a jingly sound.
I'm round.
I fly into the air.
I'm fair.
When I land on my tail,
I fail.
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