The winter storm rolled in with iron skies,
yet through its roar a pulse of hope stayed bright.
Green leaves, long fallen, seemed again to rise
as wind revived their memory in flight.
I held my life like currency in hand~
each choice a coin I’d saved against the cold.
The storm swept through, reshaping what I planned,
yet left behind a worth I’d never told.
Snow hammered fields, but still a faint green glow
clung to the edges where the frost gave way.
It whispered that the heart can overflow
even when storms turn daylight into gray.
And so, through winter’s rage, I learned to see
how hope can rise—my richest currency.
black coins hiss in the sun~
courage gleams where fear was spun
Currency is blood
Every man has a symbol
No God is safe here
In Canada we have nice currency,
pretty banknotes and shiny coins;
oh, what if time was replaced by money,
I think that would be strange !
Lesley said- have time to meet for coffee,
well, I measure time in money;
so, it will cost you a sweet $20 green banknote,
oh, she said, forget it !
Hi said Joan, time for a long hike today,
time, well how long are we talking;
because my time will cost a red $50 banknotes,
right, well never mind then !
My monthly fun dance classes costs me time,
measured out that's a $100 brown banknote;
the laundry takes time and lots of loonies,
and tons of toonies too !
Time's money, this's how it's seen by monetary agency
Wiser men have modified it saying ‘Time’s currency’
An invaluable wealth, time you should never squander
No bank can help you once for money you wander
“Time and tide wait for no man”, affirms the wise
Be keen to do everything in allotted time n’ space
Like waves, which wait for none, time will advance
By staying idle, we may never get one more chance
Each one is granted a fixed quantum of time
And each second passes with a silent chime
Those who handle time without enough caution
May later regret and can land in utter perdition
As the pendulum of time swings
Each day, to infinity, steadily wings
Time is like a diminishing bank account
Nothing can be added to the existing amount
Time wasted should be our greatest regret
It is precious and irredeemable, never forget
Before infirmities set in, earn what you can
For life on Earth has only a short span
If time was currency would we be rich
Could we become outrageously spendthrift
Should we be gladly generous of heart
Tossing our dosh away, alike a dart.
Would friends surround us, if they had no time
Their currency gone on fine food and wine
At first class restaurants, only the best
Enjoying life's luxuries to excess.
Expecting handouts, on us to depend
Knowing that we'd plenty of time to spend
With currency growing fast, day by day
False friends will never, ever go away.
Good friends will share with you what’er they have
There’s no wondering or thinking of that
For whatever reason one's down on luck
They'd share their currency, no ifs or buts.
If time was currency,
Would we treat it like cash?
Would we be open handed
Or hide our stash?
If borrowed, would it be demanded
Back quickly with added interest?
Would we spend it sensibly
And wisely invest?
Would we feel more inclined
To an equalising? Or become greedy?
Would the wealthier gain more
While there's less for the needy?
If time was currency, would we better
Appreciate the value of a life?
Would we live with deeper meaning?
Or would we dismiss global strife?
Whatever its form or how it is spent,
The currency means nothing at all.
Without the things that matter the most
Humanity prepares itself to fall.
"Time... Always here but never here." By Poet
Time is a funny thing since time does not always seem real,
yet I have been here since the beginning of time.
Time cannot be seen or touched,
but I am everywhere.
Many find me to be very rich,
when they call me quality of time.
Could I be used as currency?
Would I need to show myself to you?
I am already currency for many,
putting smiles on faces for volunteering.
My currency as grandparent's time,
having loving grandkids by their side.
Guess who my best friend is?
It is barter.
Barter and I go hand in hand,
making many lives richer.
Time is used daily as a currency,
when you need help the most.
Someone will help you out,
out with their precious time.
My purpose in life does not include a hankering to charm society.
~James Dean
Time is the currency of the State,
with gold life-minutes added for
compliance and subtracted
for disobedience.
Mother’s life is now
one-forty-two;
Father’s is
ninety-
nine!
"I love your art"
scrawled onto the back
of a mud streaked maths book,
held up to the Driver's window.
It took about 30 seconds; maybe less,
just four words and a crooked heart
in exchange for one of the sincerest smiles,
the kind that makes you believe
that the world is going to be okay.
Such a small spark
and yet see how it lingered
in the chubby cheeks that flushed red
and the bristly silver hair,
how it glowed in the quiet of rushing footsteps,
like scented candles cupped up
beside your face in the cold.
So let this remind you
to be someone else's firework.
Burst bright in their dark,
scatter colour through their doubt
because sometimes
one shimmer in the night
is all a soul needs
to keep walking till dawn.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The cracked sidewalk remembers
where my soles first learned belonging.
Morning tea steam rising~
a silent hymn to whoever filled the kettle.
This borrowed breath between stars
is the only currency I carry.
Currently the security profit programs is hesitant
Sista bad ways the masters degree premonition holder has eliquented us inside of the never growing fortress of people's passed economic struggles as mimes
Yet the obstructioni zing doth not permit a permit
Ye of vittles portion lacks the fortitude of good days in labor
Between Camarillo livibility lengths and Newbury Park rotations as the same
None may improvith stations whilst sista bad feelings goes into debt full idea administration worry
It was autumn
Before the round
Something shivered
Tools wasn't full
Vans change, tools out strange the work
All damseled
In respite
Shane apprehension grovel
Lost beside his print
Finding his father's name
April, too new city managers
Yorks and shires bereaved
I wasn't your only father's rent
The war counted on better rays
Rates add fits
In byes gondolas say
To write wrongs
Haven't worried sensibly
The round became my leaving board
A pond as his mother's springs
She sheltered little in life
Deathly burden to me
Manhattan Surrender my moons light
Business
In singled hour resignations letter documented and also documents retrieve towards poverty's laws
As a poor man's writing ledgers.
#realdonaldtrump #cagovernor #asmirwin #mikeytaylor #repbrownley #tonybiasotti #washingtonpost #nytimes #latimes #aoc
Richness of mind
the money no matter
A visual feast
uncountable wealth
Conceptual bullion
perceptual bitcoin
Intuitive treasure
— a fortune indwelt
(Dreamsleep: August, 2025)
only the one percent will have it—
digits on screens,
coinless gold,
cleaner than blood,
colder than God.
you kept printing your paper,
tossing it like confetti
at a funeral,
your wages wrapped in lies,
your hopes barcoded,
your future encrypted.
you can't eat a dollar bill
and you sure as hell
can't chew a blockchain—
but they’ll tell you to smile
and have more kids
for the labor farms.
keep breeding, they said,
the system needs cogs.
you gave them your teeth
your time
your trembling nights—
and when it all crashes,
you’ll hold your children like currency
and they’ll be worth less
than the lint in your pocket
when no one’s buying
anything but bullets,
and the rich are buying planets.
how is this in your best interest?
you had more than ample warning
and still lit the match.
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