Long Pennies Poems
Long Pennies Poems. Below are the most popular long Pennies by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pennies poems by poem length and keyword.
Human kind, population of many kinds
Each stake claim over dominant race
Bias race to think one is better than other
That their idea be any different than yours
Because it is not same of yours
Is it so much that you be right
Or learning experience to a better way
A way of change, even our hearts need looking
Hatred discontent, for your own life chose
Person we grown to be we except
With perception, we all seeing life same
Dreams of make believe come reality
Bias race, is it your life you follow
Or world in demand for a solution
It only be our own desire our guilt
Heart as wicked as soul of man
We kill for skin, robbing a life dignity
We earn respect, loyalty bought mere pennies
What is it we become the trash you street
We see man hungry, greed we feel
His rags rip by life circumstances
It is not we choose our color by choice
But by one's demeanor their character carry
The importance of the being truth be seen
Only in eyes of beholder bias race
One can not love another without first loving yourself
Has life destroyed perspective you had
What is it racism lives but in ourselves
That we hate another cause not who they are
Is white a minority, all dark skins
Should I fear the color or the man
Makes no difference, one as bad as other
But except skin, we are still same
Bias race, not just color but foreigners way
It's not our land we trample hearts
But morals of being breathe for same air
There've been moments when 'twas courage I needed
like the time I climbed to the crest of a mountain
to overcome my fear of heights. It was superseded
with bravery I found in myself to give me credibility
instead of wishing by throwing a coin in the fountain.
Quarters, nickels, pennies wasted, tossed in futility.
To Rome's Trevi they flock as if that fountain was magic.
Closing their eyes in hopes that wishes will come true,
but crushed when their dreams were lost... how tragic.
Coins beneath the water's surface, glinting in the sun...
Coinage collected for the poor that fountains accrue.
It's tradition to share the moment with a loved one.
Over my shoulder, I've thrown coins into waters of a fount,
but not naive enough to think my wishes would find fruition.
Perhaps we've all lost more coins than any of us can count,
but serves as the perfect whimsical setting for picture taking.
Not a means for making dreams come true, nor an ambition,
but tossing a coin in a fountain is a fantastical undertaking.
Born in the African horn,
In a village, warn torn,
Tired of life, on a gloomy morn,
Took a fateful decision alone.
Left them behind - my loving family,
Knew they’d cry and mourn,
When they find out, I was gone.
A few pennies and old clothes,
Daring the Sirocco, as it blows,
Through Sahara's blazing sands,
Reached the shores of Fezzan.
Five hundred more were jostling for a chance,
To find a tight place on that boat to France,
My turn, it only came past day twenty,
And they told me,
You will go if you have the money.
Screaming in fear on that dinghy,
Tossing around in the Mediterranean Sea,
It brought me to the camps of Lesbos,
My wounded sanity, I began to lose.
Dirty and grimy, hopeless and morose,
In that flailing broken tent, I froze,
That is when someone told me,
Lovely Australia is the place to be.
Put my life into his greedy hands,
The human smuggler, he took me thru’ badlands,
But the guardians of the sea, down under,
To Manus, they screamed, after my surrender.
A long way had I come, forlorn,
From the violent and dusty Horn,
Through the unrelenting Sahel and Lesbos,
To the hell of Manus and its chaos.
Today with a rose, I’m on my way,
On a plane, to the San Francisco Bay,
I’m a poor refugee and I silently pray,
‘Show me some mercy, don’t turn me away’.
Doctors (particularly biomedical engineers)...
really trolley train hard to keep track of patients
Eye tell ya we (spuds)
pulled up stakes after four yar
and zero scores ago living in Bryn Mawr
salutary heart and lungs figurative
storied Main Line Health medical network
latter part of June tooth thousand seventeen
approximately July first
same year bidding au revoir
bid good riddance account
to slumlord - hood did spat and spar
moved to Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
unsafe to ride bicycle without handlebar
economical, geographical, practical...
subjected by Grosse and Quade tyrannical czar
dom low income facilities housing
nattering nabobs of nihilism whose intellect subpar
candidates vetted by Jaclyn Geiger registrar
courtesy nepotism unexceptional manager
thanks be to her papa, she drives fancy car
unlike this pauper and the missus
limited to schlep near and not far
afforded by rattletrap motorcar,
no driving prohibitive number of miles,
crossing sketchy territory warning signs
picturing dangerous avatar,
(especially during inclement whee thar)
determining risk to forego
top manic kin Michelin
money grubbing cannibalistic
surgeon's earning equivalent silver star,
or comparable civilian rating touting specialists
while bonafide topnotch indivisible tailors swifty
stitch ink, viz tattoo back parlor shop whar
exemplary Patients Matter Always
buzzfeeding, inoculating, kickstarting...
healthy medical network,
hobnob, kibitz, schmooze...
drown lackluster lovelife at the bar
parting paramour with such sweet sorrows par
for the course during pouring rain how bizarre
necessitated our lucky find locating physicians
supreme nsync with Google high reviews
receiving, scoring, nabbing,
incorporating... truevalue re: vector and scalar,
we veteran trooper seasoned renters
luckily blessed chance
cost us pennies on the dinar
general bang for buck amazingly
found yours truly strumming his air guitar
pleasantly situated among picturesque poplar
resort within Skippack Village, a tourist
mecca for devout or
secular gourmandizing, earning
catering and acquiescing savoir
ole mighty faire Benjamin
legally tendering expensive bazaar.
how stately is this covered bridge
with a weathered and worn facade
a winding road that passes through
and a slow stream view as you promenade
now cracked and split with rusted bolts
the price of age to its sturdy beams
reflections on water to catch the eye
where two in love tossed pennies for their dreams
it stands in contrast to the Autumn leaves
a gray aged skin against colors bright
to haunt the memory of days gone by
when it was needed for time's respite
time will pass, this bridge will fall
pictures kept, remind of memories lost
as all things that have come before
through passing years, we'll measure the cost
8/18/17
contest Covered Bridge
The Act of Love
Voice 1 – Anger
Voice 2 – Love
Voice 3 – Trauma
Voice 4 – Reason
Voice 1: Why does this happen EVERY TIME?!
Voice 2: He didn’t mean it, you know we’ll be fine.
Voice 3: HA! FINE?! F-I-N-E… we all know what that means
right? (whisper, ed up, insecure, neurotic, emotional)
Voice 4: Just listen and do better… maybe stay out of sight.
Voice 2: I’ve never felt so safe, you know?
Voice 3: SAFE?? THIS is safe? you need to GO!
Voice 1: She’s right! Why stay? It’ll only get worse!
Voice 4: You need to focus on putting yourself first.
Voice 3: The hits will only get harder, but time will soften the
blows…
Voice 2: But he’s not what you think and I hate that nobody knows.
Voice 1: Knows WHAT? You dumb , you only stay ‘cause you’re
“stuck”!
Voice 4: There is way more to it than a woman just saying “enough.”
Voice 2: I swear he’s the one, I’ll prove it to you all,
he’s sweet and kind and never drops the ball.
Voice 1: He’s the epitome of evil, ya never “drops the ball,”
but would drop you in a heartbeat, on the first ring of a
call. (THUD!) WTF?!!
Voice 3: Just listen to them girl, we’ve all been here before,
I can’t take anymore hits, it’s not just my body that is sore…
Voice 4: Here lies the body of a girl too scared, too alone to reach
out anywhere.
A girl who knew but refused to see, blinded by narcissicity.
Her trauma and anger told her to leave, but sometimes we’re just too
naïve—our inner battles ending with defeat.
That is what her tombstone would say if she refused the help for
another day.
Voice 2: Ok I get it, I know what to do.
Voice 1: Finally ing let YOURSELF shine through?!
Voice 4: Guys, she’s doing it, she’s really leaving this time.
Voice 2: But we know she’ll be back, it’s like 10 pennies to a dime.
In streets of solitude...
A societal ghost ambles through
A bustling concrete jungle unnoticed.
A lost soul with sartorial handicap,
Carrying life inside his overstuffed backpack.
His face is weather-beaten;
Reflecting wasted years,
Loneliness and pain.
His hungry, pleading eyes
Dart from one passerby to the next.
No one cares enough to approach,
To find out his name. It's Jack.
A few stop by to toss pennies
Into his Styrofoam cup.
No one sticks around to talk to him.
His stomach often grumbles
With hunger;
The world blind to his plight.
He wants more than a friendly wave
At those waiting out a stop light
Half of those don't even look in Jack's direction
Because of pride, he doesn't
Knock at car windows and ask...
"Can you kindly spare a dollar?"
A forgotten citizen left to fend for himself.
He might as well be locked away
In prison; out of sight, out of mind.
Who searches, cries, and prays for this lost soul?
America unwilling
To bring this outsider in from the cold.
She looks past him like cellophane.
Campaigning politicians release
A laundry list of plans that don't include
Helping him to rise above his dismal circumstances.
None of their promises include
Sheltering this poor folk roaming about
Like a stray dog, living under a bridge
And sleeping in a makeshift tent.
Sadly, it will always be this way
In streets of solitude.
May days
merry in an iridescent coat of spring
for girls in flowered dresses
jumping rope
one at each yellow handle while two dart in and out
their laughter and chants bounce in unforeseen direction
"Janey and Johnny sitting in a tree
K I S S I N G
first came love then came..."
"skip, skip, skip to my Lou
skip to my Lou my darlin'..."
more chants that snap in step with a cardio zing
girls run in and out of an airborne rope
skip, count
skip and count
like keeping time while the rest of the world roots
in trouble
careful hops like dancing 'round good luck pennies
the snap of the rope smacking pavement
as if filling a void
till sunset fits broad, passive shadows to faces
smirking
silvered by the zestful push of youth
till one day girls step through the rope
without a pause
to come to want different things
Poem composed May 13/2023
Despite being atheist,
I would nonetheless bet
dollars to donuts
(Dunkin and/or other wise)
Jesus would be mighty pleased
to know, his sir name
linkedin with commercial ties
no matter, he might not garner
a percentage of profits,
especially if he
unwittingly gets trampled
to death by madding
flash mob crowd source
rushing to snap up
latest door prize
as venders resort to all
manner of (subliminally
manipulative) marketing techniques
to lure patrons, (especially
photo opportunities with
one of the many
"FAKE" donned Santa
Claus), the latter,
who would lionize
their son(s) and/or
daughter(s), subsequently
guaranteeing, nailing crosswise,
and clinching safeguards
immunizing against the Grinch
a sure fire way to
guarantee future generations
will become avid consumers,
who reverently, obsequiously,
and devoutly idolize
supporting the apostles
of commercialization
nearly every
occasion to finalize (all sales)
pennies on the dollar,
where merchants feign
going for broke, and capitalize
eulogize, and idealize
the mighty buck
staging "FAKE"
news worthy shoppers
to burst into tears
crying on command,
and all manner of pathos
pulling ploys nsync king
"shameful guilt" that squares
with being ostracized, hash-tagged,
and demonized Scrooge.
~~~~~~~~~
Evening skyline
Glow of last light;
Dark shadows creep
~~~~~~~~~
Green moss
Zen garden stones;
Calmness charms
~~~~~~~~~
Antique shoppe
Old proprietor;
Living antique
~~~~~~~~~
Cemetery visit
Angel statues stand
Guardians of death
~~~~~~~~~
Newspaper vendor
Hazards early rain;
Prompt delivery
~~~~~~~~~
World news broadcast
So many conflicts;
Violent humanity
~~~~~~~~~
Children's playground
Noisy little people;
Fun screams and shouts
~~~~~~~~~
Empty taxi cabs
Absent passengers;
Telling times
~~~~~~~~~
Economic woes felt
Here and there;
Poor job market
~~~~~~~~~
Old Kung-fu master
Long solitary wait;
No students come
~~~~~~~~~
Ginseng root brew
Potent tonic;
Energy surge
~~~~~~~~~
City skyscrapers
Over the horizon;
Pouring wet weather
~~~~~~~~~
Speeding carriages
Expressway crowds;
Sudden traffic jam
~~~~~~~~~
Ancient rooftops
Chinese architecture;
Old beauty glimpses
~~~~~~~~~
Morning joggers
On a brisk run;
Sparkling dawnlight
~~~~~~~~~
Old pavilion here
Leaking raindrops;
Wet shelter
~~~~~~~~~
Chinatown alleys
Shops with odd things;
Tourists congregate
~~~~~~~~~
Little India street
Spicy concortions;
Culture in full bloom
~~~~~~~~~
Words tell
Pictures swirl;
New sightings
~~~~~~~~~
Old hunchback lady
Malnutrition showing;
Struggles for pennies
~~~~~~~~~
Old man gathers
Discarded paper cartons;
Money for next meal
~~~~~~~~~
Fortune teller waits
Cards and incense;
Table advisory
~~~~~~~~~
Empty park bench
No one can sit;
Soaking wet
~~~~~~~~~
Cardio fitness
Gym membership;
Workout a sweat
~~~~~~~~~
Old photographs
Long ago moments;
Brown sepia scraps
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
10 September 2014
Singapore