Take one and put
five pence in the
money box
Thankyou
Girls are born with a money box
Which they may share best like a fox
If what boys spend
Just gives them wind
Then girls may purchase Blue Chip stocks
My mother bought me a money box
When I was still in ankle socks
It’s in the shape of a pig
To this day that pig I dig
My late mom is my brightest star
Next is my shiny piece of art
Who once stole a little girl’s heart.
*OUR HUMBLE ABODE*
Poetry 01/02
Life after death is terrible,
But, amidst the living it's horrible.
Life is a warfare; only the brave survive.
Were we born with our approval? Nay!
We would die without our consent,
And your deeds await you,
In a high quality.
Your humble abode; your last destination.
Are you ready to face your fear?
Like a spark of light,
This is your end time.
It booms like an earthquake,
Your money box won't save you.
Your nobility, your societal level are all useless.
Your humble abode.
A home filled with anger, hostility and displeasure.
But, where do you belong?
Hell?
Paradise?
Or is this just an illusion of our minds?
WG_METICULOUS
Did you ever been a money box,
Were you forced to place money in?
I wanted to buy lollies, you see,
Or even a Mad magazine,
All enforced savings,
In the old money tins.
A blueberry stand in rural Maine
Sold pints and cakes and pies
But after hours, I discovered
Quite a nice surprise.
A money box was left beneath
A price list; it was filled
With coins and bills. We added ours –
Such honesty instilled!
I thought that such a thing would never
Fly where I reside
And yet today I saw a sight
That couldn’t be denied.
A fruit cart in my neighborhood,
Well-stocked, displayed a sign
Announcing it was “Closed for now;”
No berries could be mine.
No cash box, sure, for after all,
Manhattan isn’t Maine,
But all the fruit was there, a fact
I really can’t explain.
Perhaps it’s just a simple truth
That when we’re met with trust,
We’ll like return the favor
And leave no one left to bust.
Street minstrel show parade
Plays on edgy charade
Lunch time crowd pass
Random onlookers like glass
Curious faces venture looks
Money box less empty hooks
Coins like droppings scarce
Spare change welcome nest
Croaks on a song dreary
Mellow strains contort weary
What else can he do or say!
How else can she do today?
Sad story in a brave face
An unlikely hero to trace
But loose change means something
Than something else or nothing
People pass by casually
Somewhat detached emotionally
The world goes on with ripples
Passing by broken people
Today curls and hurls and swirls
These unforgiving times court sad world
Leon Enriquez
19 June 2017
Singapore
The Girl who spent heartbeats
Her currency was heartbeats
She only shopped with time.
She paid for things with seconds
As she waited in a line.
You cannot put heartbeats in a money box.
To save for a rainy day.
You either use them or you lose them
Heartbeat’s are made that way
She would spend heartbeats on strangers
As they shared their troubles and woes
Because kind hearts are worth more than riches
And go much further than money goes.
She would spend a heap of heartbeats on moments
Visiting old and precious friends.
Who wondered how she was so happy
With so little money to spend.
But money only buys possessions
While heartbeats buy much more.
They buy you friends and love and laughter
And a warm smile at every door.
It a fact you can’t buy heartbeats
When you have used them they are gone
So spend your heartbeats wisely
For one day you will have none
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