Long Small change Poems
Long Small change Poems. Below are the most popular long Small change by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Small change poems by poem length and keyword.
AS I GROW OLD
As I grow old
I'll never miss another boat, or train, or flight
Because
Silence becomes a pocket book of fat cash
I know where to put small change.
As I grow old, I behold
The bigger picture in life is the eye
Not that eye stuck on itself
Not that eye color blind
Not that eye afraid of depth and height.
Women are the eyes that weep for humanity
When we're together; though far apart, men conspire we're rich
What makes women rich?
We are forgiving, nurturing, and
When all else fails, we are flashlight in the dark.
As I grow old, it appears
My age won't bury a heart so young
Who would confound a butterfly?
And what is a home without the breath of God?
As I grow old, I behold
The bigger picture in life unites
The core of man cannot stand alone, and
For that reason, we have two eyes;
One of depth and faces forward.
*
The things you do are not worthy of compliments.
I thought even someone like you would have more sense.
Sometimes I wish you would stay on the other side of the fence.
Inside your cranium, there does not appear to be much room.
That is why you have always been a boomboom.
So often, you would display a puerile scene.
Nobody else I know would break a slot machine.
Your impetuous action was something not too keen.
Inside your cranium, there does not appear to be much room.
That is why you have always been a boomboom.
Nobody likes it when you rant in a vociferous way.
Your deleterious actions seem to be here to stay.
Nothing has ever changed. It’s the same from day to day.
Inside your cranium, there does not appear to be much room.
That is why you have always been a boomboom.
Whenever it is payday, you run off to a casino.
You disregard your bills and obligations, and off you go.
In no time at all, you no longer have any dough.
Inside your cranium, there does not appear to be much room.
That is why you have always been a boomboom.
The way you act in public appears bizarre and strange.
The family and few friends you have are treated like small change.
Is there a possibility your brain we can rearrange?
Inside your cranium, there does not appear to be much room.
That is why you have always been a boomboom.
Silent, she slips from her stronghold’s security,
safely tucked high on the cliff in her nest.
Cautious, she stays in the shadows afforded her,
sorrowful, hesitant, missing the rest.
Her parents and siblings had sought out the sunshine,
flying the open air, learning their craft.
Soaring and diving, they basked in the currents;
she, feeling poorly, by chance, had stayed back.
Sounds like a cannon had rung out above her;
shrieking and screaming, she watched the first fall.
Caught in the open with no chance for cover,
savagely, swiftly, death came for them all.
Hugging the hillside, she used the thick foliage,
bobbing and weaving, avoiding the limbs,
calling on instincts she knew not inside her,
fine-tuned adjustments through flexes and trims.
Cover was ending; the ocean awaited her.
Her heart was racing, her mind strangely clear.
Mother had taught her to seek out the currents;
a warm water pocket meant updrafts were near.
Tucking, she dove as she flew in the open,
a bullet herself, towards shiny blue glass.
Braking so subtly, just at the last moment,
she shot across wave tops, dizzily fast.
There! A small change in the water beneath her.
Pulling up hard, she flapped skyward and soared.
Where she was headed lay unknown before her,
on past the sunset to some distant shore.
Get rid of that false notion...
that life makes us taste its bitterness,
not because we deserve it:
because it builds our inner strenght,
making its wait all worthwhile;
have you noticed the wealth of the achievers?
Scream,fight and complain 'till you're drained,
nothing will be changed by hurling anger...
and instead of looking at the bad side of things:
try a small change in attitude,
or even believe that day-dreams
aren't too irksome to increase our fear!
And the very lucky ones know
that chasing fading rainbows...
are vain dreams deluted by quick storms;
if doubt still persists,rely on faith!
Before you lie wonderful choices,
make the right ones and wait for the outcome!
If trees grow taller by sunlight like sunflowers,
don't they need also rain for their foilage?
So that the banches and ferns will be strong
to shelter those harmonious birds
in those long aromatic seasons,
to entice our senses and claim our patrimony...
while searching for serenity,
to feel as endless as infinity!
The end, or beginning
of the strip mall starts
at the Subway Subs
a set aside frontage overlooked
by bushes and idling traffic.
Further along, the ephemeral
Pop-up Party Shop;
when not ‘up’
that commercial space
sells T-shirts
a print for printing slogans.
Abutting is the computer game center,
pale youths enter
not to be seen again until cell phones
broadcast amber alerts.
Lastly, the hardware store,
a well-thumbed cluttered cave,
struggling to re-invent its old brands.
Abruptly
it all ends
at curbs and untrod paving.
The mall hangs on to the small change
of a larger, more changing world.
On an adjacent blacktop
drivers stay in lane
until the junction and the traffic lights
lead them somewhere else
less out of time.
Dusk comes to smear the parking lot
with its cowls and drapes,
the wingspans of an evening haze
sweep-in nocturnal tones,
chimerical forms reshape storefronts,
leave obscure echoing sinkholes.
The strip mall nightly sinks
into its less concrete reality,
a haunt woven
from the discarded wrappers and scraps;
that spill over its one solitary trash bin.
It will be days before it is emptied
or filled again - maybe weeks.
Do not ask why
Shed not a tear
Do not cry
All is meant
This is it
This is your part in it
Let the children play
Run your finger's through the hay
Who are any of us to say
That though we may
Tomorrow brings another day
That loss grows less
And what is best
Came in small change
Not paper note's
To spend in shops
Covering over the stomach knot's
The medicine drink's
In search of release
The missing pieces
Swallow whole
We all pay the toll
We all fall
Being born is to crawl
Back into the ball
We escaped
Expecting more
We are all unsure
And their is no cure
Of this I am sure
Recepticle: One of a kind
It was a thoughtful gift
in the shape of her heart
Symbolic inscription-
"Love's Everlasting Hopes"
kept next to the front door
In shadow, in half-light.
She kept her car keys there.
Small change, new receipts
pins and paperclips, pens
lipstick, bangles, spare things...
Simple concave, convex
Moulded mind-heart shape
Porcelain pale shadow
Clear intent left it there
Till the time came when smirk smile
black hate eyes stepped inside
sleight of hand side-swipe flick
despise, devalue, discard
done with splitting, slitting
pound of flesh sacrifice-
So easy to replace,
no end to his supplies
She only had One Heart
for him, no Big Surprise,
a common vessel trade
for his communal use
Belly feels deep pity
for its now shattered state,
She drops to hands and knees
Picks up each fragile piece
bright blood drips from fresh cuts
thin red lines smear love read,
Torn vessel spills plasma
tears, love is precious life
Dustpan holds bits and pieces...
Impulse to throw away
Hesitation- thoughtful
ancient wisdom whispers,
revalue all for gain
Again, a gain, again
She knows what she can do...
Fix it with liquid gold
Now it gleams in the dark.
A Receptacle Poem: One of a kind
Aqua Marine Poems.
Restructured from my original poem posted in 2016.
“Shikata ga nai” is a Japanese term meaning “It cannot be helped.”
Please journey with me as I attempt
to be a small change needed in this world.
It is so much easier to look the other way,
or hurl insults at the homeless standing on the median,
sign in hand, begging for change.
Compassion should be first and foremost, not feel strange,
doing our part as we stroll through the park,
picking up garbage along the trail, even in the dark.
Sitting in a restaurant beside a family of five,
the two oldest bickering back and forth, so alive—
be the change, and instead of muttering slyly,
mocking the parents as if they should have stayed home—smile shyly.
When did it become easier to feel high and mighty,
to sit on a throne, shake our finger, and act almighty,
to think we are better than another human?
That is so inhuman.
“Be our brother’s keeper” should be our calling, and we should be eager to show compassion, to offer a helping hand.
Even the eyes of a child understand this demand—
if we could only see each other through the eyes of a child,
everyone would matter, no one would be defiled.
Gossiping,
cheating,
hurting,
yelling,
seeding doubts,
being a louse—
are these the gifts we want to leave behind?
Be kind.
Let us plant Forget-Me-Nots
to honour those who fought and gave their best shot.
There’s so much we cannot control,
things that cannot be helped as a whole.
But selling our souls to the devil—
that brings the playing field to another level.
Let us strive for humanity,
let us pray for unity,
accept what we cannot change,
and be the change we want to see.
(Dedication: For Ann)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Take things easy with mahjong game,
Watch with sure gaze discards that tell;
Thought strategy works the sly frame,
Let poise forge maze as moves work well.
Each card you stack can fit the groove,
Note how blocks spread in clusters here;
Align sure knack with steady moves,
Each move is read in mental spheres.
From East to West, the game goes round,
The dragon trail and winds that blow;
Cards that work fest on solid grounds,
Smooth numbers sail in sets that show.
Chinese word craft calligraphy,
Marbles that stray, bamboo needles;
Hurl thrill and blast as mindset frees,
The seasons stay power struggles.
Round the table, each player treks
Each counter move with cards at hand;
Spread the sparkle in winning deck,
Windfall now proves a lucky trend.
Four seasons swirl in circle trip,
The winds of change weave tidal range;
Feel blocks unfurl a winning grip,
Luck works things strange in web of change.
So here we go round the four winds,
The moments cast an active spin;
Moves lost and found from thoughts unseen,
Counter moves last to bring home grins.
Mahjong table chat can reveal lots,
So much at stake to zero in;
Share bits of fat as gossip slots,
Force choice in takes that hustle win.
And at the end, count our winnings,
Compile and see how each did fare;
Did crafty blend reap fine endings,
Or purse empty of small change take.
Let fancy style mahjong tiles here,
Mix and mingle acrylic blocks;
Just for a while buzz gambles dear,
Cash now sprinkles pleasant fond talk.
Leon Enriquez
27 June 2015
Singapore
My Darling,
My Love,
My Everything,
This is Number One Hundred.
I told you that I’d reach it, and I have.
This will be a long one,
But I hope it says everything it needs to,
I hope ink lands quicker than tears.
This whole century of writing is for you,
You own every penny in this poetic pound,
So at this literary boiling point,
I want you to know
That a century is just the start; I’ll write for you for millennia to come.
That a pound is small change; I want to make you rich.
That Hell, high water, hot water, can do their worst; this love will endure.
This is the truth that all can see,
But only you will ever know,
Will ever truly know,
The eternal honesty I write about.
And these numbers:
126
1071
8
25
17
100
Only mean anything to you and I and us alone.
Love in numerical exclusivity.
Let me count the ways…
You may be one man, but one is all that this one needs,
Or maybe even just a half, as long as you have half of me.
So know that this is a milestone,
A reminder of what’s yet to come,
A promise for longevity,
A poem for you to read and believe,
A poem for you.
Number One Hundred.
You have my heart, and
I love you.